


Corpse Lily

by Hootscowl



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/F, Not Canon Compliant, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, contains bfa spoilers but does not follow bfa story, longfic, smut but they have to work for it, sylvanas/thalyssra, the crack ship no one asked for, why write canon when you can write lesbians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-05-30 03:33:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15088103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hootscowl/pseuds/Hootscowl
Summary: The fragile peace between Alliance and Horde is shattered. With the nightborne thrust into a world at war, Thalyssra must seek allies to ensure her people’s survival.But Sylvanas finds recruiting the nightborne into the Horde more difficult than expected, and the Dusk Lily herself begins to stir a long-dead heart.Sylvanas/Thalyssra femslash fic





	1. Orgrimmar Arc - Emissary

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes a different path from BFA canon. 
> 
> For example: the Horde doesn’t try recruiting the nightborne until after BFA begins, and Saurfang doesn’t leave. There is nothing to do with Zandalar, Xal'atath, or undead night elves. Other differences from canon will occur as this story progresses. Fair warning in case anyone was expecting 100% canon-compliance.
> 
> TL;DR: Why write canon when you can write lesbians!

* * *

 

"More spikes than a manalisk’s back,” Thalyssra murmured to herself.

That was her first impression of Orgrimmar as she stood outside the Horde capital.

Thick layers of steel bulwarked a gate that seemed like a massive toothed jaw ready to bite down on invaders.  Peons hammered away, hard at work bolstering defenses, while wolfriders escorted supply carts down the dirt road to the bay where battleships awaited.  Orgrimmar was ready for war. It was not a city, it was a fortress.  So different from the garden promenades and delicate spires of Thalyssra’s city. 

This arid land could not have been more different from home.  Orange rock smoothed by eons of wind made mighty canyons, sparsely dotted with coarse plants.  Thalyssra already missed Suramar’s lush woods and streams. 

Her long ears twitched nervously, but she forced herself to maintain serenity.  This mission was only just beginning.  She could not let herself falter already. 

Thalyssra wore her usual wine-purple tabard and shenti, belted in silver, with matching silver pectoral collar.  Her limbs were bare save for runed bands coiled around her forearms and ankles.  Nightborne generally wore few garments, and Durotar’s heat made her glad for that. 

She felt underdressed compared to her escort standing beside her, resplendent in polished plate armor and black Blood Knight tabard. 

“Are you ready?” Liadrin asked. 

 _Ready to take my first step into an uncertain future, risking my life and possibly that of my entire race?_ Thalyssra thought. 

“Of course I am.” 

It was one thing to befriend members of the Horde who helped Thalyssra in her homeland.  It was quite another thing to walk alone into the core of the Horde’s might and rely solely on their goodwill for her safety. 

Liadrin mounted her charger.  A column of mounted Blood Knights rode behind her, fully armored and carrying banners of the same sigil as their tabards, a red phoenix rising from darkness. 

An impressive retinue.  Impressing Thalyssra with the strength and nobility of the Horde was clearly Liadrin’s goal. 

“Hold a moment before we enter, friend,” Liadrin said.  “The rough steel flooring of the gate-corridor might cut your bare feet.” 

She helped Thalyssra climb up behind the saddle of her charger. 

Thalyssra pitied the beast, encumbered now by two riders plus his barding.  But he marched forward, head upright, as proud as his mistress.  His shod hooves clanged on the metal of the gate-corridor.  Liadrin’s knights followed the two women at a respectful distance. 

Thalyssra put her arms around Liadrin from behind to keep steady as they rode.  Even seated, Thalyssra was tall enough to see over Liadrin’s auburn head.  Sin’dorei were so short and slight compared to shal’dorei.  Nightborne saw themselves as sophisticated, but they still carried the wild vigor of their night elf cousins. 

These blood elves were even further cousins.  The Sunwell changed them, as the Nightwell changed nightborne.  Generations of basking in sunshine and mingling with humans had diluted the bloodline.  Liadrin and the rest of her race were peach-skinned, with gold or copper hair.  Thalyssra bore the deep purple skin and white hair of Suramar’s elves. 

Blood elves were not frail, but their wispy eyebrows and small fangs, their slender limbs, all seemed so delicate when set against a nightborne’s firm jawline, heavy fangs, and strong legs.  A housecat compared to a panther. 

They passed through the gate and into Orgrimmar proper.  Thalyssra drew an amazed breath. 

It was not built of masoned stone, but of raw rock.  A city carved right into the canyon itself.  Orange and brown rock gave way to red-roofed buildings lining the dirt-packed streets.  More tiers of buildings were hewn up the walls of the canyon.  The Horde emblem was displayed proudly everywhere, on banners and shields, crates and door lintels. 

And there were spikes.  Oh so many spikes. 

“Quite a sight, isn't it?” Liadrin said. 

Thalyssra had to agree. 

More remarkable than the city were its people.  A busy throng filled the streets.  Soldiers, healers, civilians, street vendors, people of every trade, all of them weaving together in a vibrant pattern of shared community.

Thalyssra looked over Liadrin’s head with interest at the Horde’s myriad races filling the city.  Such variety!  From waist-high goblins to towering horned tauren. 

Orgrimmar’s architecture, its populace, even its domesticated animals were such a clash from Suramar.  Instead of manasabers and hippogryphs, the Horde harnessed wolves and raptors and stranger animals still, creatures even more exotic than those housed in Suramar’s menagerie. 

It was all so different, and yet… so normal.  Traders called out their wares, soldiers chatted while waiting outside smithies for their gear to be repaired, and one goblin was yelling quite animatedly at a pandaren whose food cart was blocking his trike.  They were all just people going about their daily lives beneath the Durotar sun. 

Heads turned to watch the entry procession.  Most did not know Thalyssra, but all knew the black banner of the Blood Knights.  Cheers and salutes rose for the Matriarch and her column of mounted paladins.  Liadrin acknowledged them with a regal nod. 

“So many outlanders,” Thalyssra said, eyeing the crowd as Liadrin walked her horse slowly through.  “I suppose I'm the outlander here.” 

Liadrin chuckled.  “This is your first trip outside Suramar since the Sundering, yes?  I must take you to Silvermoon someday, when your mission in Orgrimmar is complete.” 

An offer Thalyssra would happily accept.  There was no denying she felt trepidation about venturing forth into the reaches of Azeroth after millennia locked in Suramar.  But through the heavy trepidation rose bubbles of excitement.  So much to see and learn! 

Sadly, the world was not safe to simply travel and enjoy the sights.  The demon threat was ended, but a new one emerged.  That of Horde versus Alliance. 

Even with their ranks devastated by the war against the Legion, both Alliance and Horde charged back into battle soon after.  This cross-continent war had come to be known as the Battle for Azeroth.  The entire world was at war, split between these two factions vying for dominion over Azeroth herself and all her people.

The shal’dorei spent so long in isolation, and many took one look at the current world and immediately wanted to return to that isolation.  Elisande’s followers had wanted the opposite.  An active role in the world, but as conquerors, reclaiming lands held by the elven empire thousands of years ago. 

Thalyssra wanted neither isolation nor empire.  The nightborne should be defenders of Azeroth, not conquerors. 

Thalyssra regretted choosing sides in this new war.  But it was the only way to protect her people.  Simply staying neutral and praying violence would not come knocking on their door had ended in disaster when the Legion invaded.  Thalyssra would not let another disaster befall the nightborne.  Not after they clawed their way back from the brink of apocalypse under Elisande’s tyranny. 

If survival required taking a side in the Battle for Azeroth, so be it. 

But the nightborne had not decided _which_ side. 

Such was the purpose of this emissary mission to Orgrimmar.  For Thalyssra to learn more about the Horde.  To find out whether her people could belong beneath the red banner. 

When Thalyssra broached the topic, Liadrin leapt at the chance to escort her.  Ever since Liadrin met the nightborne, she urged them to join the Horde. 

“I hope the rest of the Horde is as welcoming as you, my friend,” Thalyssra said as they rode deeper into the canyon. 

“You’re worried?  Do not be.”  Liadrin looked over her shoulder to give Thalyssra an encouraging smile.  “Orgrimmar might not look inviting, but I promise you will find steadfast allies here among us.”

Thalyssra made a noncommittal sound.  She liked Liadrin, but…  Absently, Thalyssra rubbed her own abdomen.  She bore a scar there, carved by a friend she thought would help overthrow Elisande.  Melandrus’s dagger taught Thalyssra to be careful who you trust. 

Liadrin said, “I hoped the efforts of myself and other Horde champions who fought beside you would have convinced you of our loyalty.” 

“You know you have my gratitude for helping reclaim Suramar.  But have you forgotten we also fought beside the Alliance?” 

Pressed against Liadrin atop the horse, Thalyssra felt her tense up.  Liadrin’s race was once part of the Alliance.  But any partnership could be broken when war tightened its grip. 

Thalyssra went on, “I heard the Horde also fought beside the Alliance when a prior Warchief turned tyrant, as Elisande turned tyrant on my people.  You yourself fought beside the Alliance on Argus.  Yet now Alliance and Horde besiege each other’s cities!” 

“Times change,” Liadrin said simply. 

Times change.  Would times change to the point the Horde was no longer a safe partnership?  Could the Horde be trusted, or would they someday turn on the nightborne?  Thalyssra refused to subject her own people to the same dagger from behind she once suffered. 

“You will see the right of things, I know it.”  Liadrin blazed with self-assurance, as always.  “The Alliance would never live up to your hopes for the future.  The Horde is the righteous path.” 

“Tell me, Liadrin, what righteousness was there in the burning of Teldrassil?” 

Much blood was shed on both sides of this war, but nothing could compare to what happened to Teldrassil.  The destruction of an entire race’s home.  The burning of a world tree and a temple sacred to Elune, the goddess nightborne still shared.  Countless lives lost in the flames, mostly civilians unable to evacuate in time.   _Unconscionable_ was the only way Thalyssra could describe it. 

“Teldrassil was a…” 

Liadrin trailed off.  It took a moment to gather herself enough to deflect. 

“The Warchief does not consult us about every tactical decision she makes.  Ask her about Teldrassil yourself when you meet her.  Or don’t, if you value keeping your head attached to your shoulders.” 

Was that a joke?  Thalyssra had heard enough about the Warchief to wonder. 

The Warchief and her subordinate Horde leaders awaited Thalyssra’s arrival with diplomatic honors, but that did not make Thalyssra any less nervous about meeting them.  A barbaric faction.  And proud of it!  But their Warchief went above and beyond, even for the Horde. 

Rumors abounded, but the fact was the Warchief deliberately burned Teldrassil.  She admitted it publicly without remorse. 

And by coming to Orgrimmar, Thalyssra put herself in this conqueror’s hands.  Relying on decency and good faith.  Two traits which, according to Thalyssra’s Alliance acquaintances, the Warchief sorely lacked. 

But the Horde did not believe their Warchief wholly evil, and Thalyssra could not believe the Horde wholly evil, not after they helped Suramar.  Thalyssra tightened her arms around Liadrin.  Her friend was not evil. 

“What sort of person is the Warchief?” Thalyssra asked. 

“She is a great leader when she dedicates herself to it!  Cunning enough to lay traps for enemies to fall into, but also brave enough to lead the battle charge herself if need be.  She's resourceful and determined and protective and --” 

“Is she kind?” 

“Kind?”  Liadrin flicked her charger’s reins awkwardly.  “Well, ah… no.  I don’t suppose one would call her that.” 

Kind or not, she controlled nearly all of Kalimdor now.  Only the Exodar and a few small Alliance holdouts remained. 

But the Horde paid a price for its conquest of Kalimdor.  The Alliance struck back against the Warchief’s aggression by capturing her lands in the Eastern Kingdoms.  With the downfall of Undercity, Liadrin’s home of Silvermoon was the last Horde stronghold on the continent.  It showed how eager Liadrin was for the nightborne to join the Horde, that she left the defense of her homeland to escort Thalyssra to Orgrimmar. 

The Battle for Azeroth was only just beginning, with no sign which faction would be left standing when the blood dried.  If they did not destroy each other entirely.  “Who started it” did not seem relevant to either side.  Old hatreds ran deep.  These factions had waged war for decades, some races for centuries. 

All while the nightborne passed long years beneath their shield, unaware of the caprices of the outside world.  Now their isolation was ended, the shield protecting their city gone.  The Azeroth they knew before, unrecognizable.  Thalyssra and her people could not survive this strange new world alone. 

Liadrin drew her horse to a halt in front of a large and, unsurprisingly, very spiky rotunda at the center of Orgrimmar’s main canyon.  An enormous Horde banner draped the roof, as if to declare to all who entered that they were stepping foot into the heart of the Horde itself. 

“We’ve arrived,” Liadrin announced.  “Grommash Hold.  The Warchief awaits inside.” 

Thalyssra had much to learn about the Horde.  She didn’t even know what a Grommash was. 

She would ask later, for Liadrin was already dismounting.  Thalyssra gave the horse a pat on his armored neck to thank him for bearing them through the city.  But then she floundered trying to follow Liadrin off him.  Thalyssra was not used to riding.  Mage portals and telemancy pads were the civilized way to travel! 

Liadrin spared Thalyssra the embarrassment by lifting her down off the horse’s croup.  Despite being the smaller woman, Liadrin had a paladin's strength. 

Their retinue of Blood Knights dismounted as well and waited outside the Hold.  Only two followed Liadrin and Thalyssra, carrying a large treasure chest Thalyssra brought from Suramar.  The men grunted as they heaved the locked chest between them. 

Dreadguards stood sentry outside Grommash Hold.  Deep-set blank eyes regarded Thalyssra as she and Liadrin approached. 

During the siege of the Nighthold, Thalyssra glimpsed a few undead, but not up close.  Up close, they were quite a terror to behold.  Black armor did not conceal these dreadguards’ jutting bones and joints, decaying flesh, and tight-drawn skin dotted with holes revealing pockets of rotten organ tissue.

The Forsaken, these beings called themselves.  Life itself had forsaken them. 

Their desiccated bodies reminded Thalyssra of the Withered.  Of how she herself nearly succumbed to withering early in the rebellion when mana was scarce.  Her very life energy had drained, leaving her body shriveled and starving, nothing but skin and bone and a teeming horror gnawing at the edges of her sanity.  But at least she’d been _alive_. 

Well, a new world for the nightborne meant new things to grow accustomed to.  The shal’dorei could not reclaim a place in Azeroth if they could not coexist with its other races.  These undead were sentient beings, as much a part of the Horde as trolls or tauren.  Thalyssra could not write them off as monsters before even giving them a chance.  So she forced away her unease and walked onward with Liadrin. 

A dreadguard saluted as they approached the Hold. 

“Hail, Lady Liadrin.  The Banshee Queen is ready to receive you and the emissary.” 

Banshee Queen, Dark Lady, Warchief of the Horde.  Many titles for the same woman: Sylvanas Windrunner.  A name spoken by some with devotion, some with hatred. 

The dreadguard pointed the elves toward the entrance.  His hand was mostly bone, with a few strips of rotting muscle clinging on, the flesh gray-drained of any healthy fluids. 

The sight made a memory surface, of one of the outlander champions who helped Thalyssra in Suramar.  A human warrior.  Thalyssra recalled a peculiar custom where he lifted her hand and kissed the back of it.  At her confusion, he explained it was a sign of respect for noblewomen in human culture. 

At the time, Thalyssra shrugged it off as an odd outlander thing.  But now, faced with these walking corpses, nausea churned her gut.  They were human once…  They might expect the same custom.  Would Thalyssra need to kiss their queen’s hand to show respect?  Put her mouth on rotting flesh? 

“Dark Lady watch over you,” the dreadguard said in farewell, unaware of Thalyssra’s discomfort.  Or uncaring. 

Thalyssra tried a little humor, just to relieve tension. 

“Well yes, that is the whole point of this visit.  For the Dark Lady to see me.” 

The guard scowled.  Or would have if he still had any skin on his bony brow to work with. 

Liadrin nudged Thalyssra discreetly. 

“Friend, the Forsaken are… touchy about their queen’s honor,” Liadrin whispered as they walked past him into the entry corridor of the Hold.  “They’ll happily pluck the eyes of anyone they think disrespects her, diplomat or not.  Best to avoid jokes until you get more familiar.” 

Thalyssra murmured back, “They seem quite ardent.”  That was putting it mildly.  “I’ve heard they practically worship her.  Like a cult.” 

Even Elisande at the height of her tyranny had not commanded such subjugation of her followers.  To a race as ancient as the nightborne, worship of this Dark Lady stirred a sour reminder of Queen Azshara.  Joining the Horde would only lead Thalyssra’s people to destruction if its leader turned out to be another world-sundering tyrant. 

“The rest of the Horde does not worship her,” Thalyssra said.  “Nor do you.” 

Pauldrons clinked as Liadrin shrugged.  “I’ve followed many leaders in my life.  She is not without flaw, but she is better than some others I’ve taken orders from.  I respect her, as do my fellow Horde.  She is our Warchief, simple as that.” 

They reached the main chamber and stepped inside.  The two Blood Knights followed with Thalyssra’s treasure chest and waited at the threshold. 

Grommash Hold seemed to be a throne room of sorts.  A far cry from the elaborate high-vaulted chamber in the Nighthold where Elisande held court with Thalyssra and other advisors. 

Spikes and studs reinforced the walls, which were racked with blades and shields bearing the Horde emblem.  Covering the floor was a map of stitched hides, colored to represent the continents of Azeroth and who controlled what territory.  Torches flickered in wall brackets, filling the throne room with a primal glow. 

In chairs ringing the room sat the leaders of the Horde. 

The Horde was of orcish founding, and orcs remained the bulk of its people.  But also represented here were the other races orcs rallied beneath their banner over the years. 

Liadrin guided Thalyssra to the chamber’s center and made introductions. 

“May I present High Overlord Saurfang, leader of the orcs.” 

A hulking warrior nodded curtly to Thalyssra.  The axe propped against his chair probably weighed more than she did. 

“Shadow Hunter Rokhan, leader of the trolls,” Liadrin went on. 

The chair next to Saurfang’s held a lanky troll with quick eyes that belied his casual slouch.  He lifted his chin to acknowledge Thalyssra. 

“Chieftain Baine Bloodhoof, leader of the tauren.” 

The tauren pressed a fist to his heart in greeting.  He was even larger than Saurfang, but carried a gentleness the orc lacked. 

“Regent Lord Lor’themar Theron, leader of the blood elves.” 

He was Liadrin’s own leader, and he gave both Liadrin and Thalyssra a courtly bow.  He somehow managed foppish handsomeness despite his scars and eye patch. 

“Trade Prince Gallywix, leader of the goblins.” 

The goblin’s chair was stacked with cushions to boost his small figure.  He tipped his hat politely, but he was eyeing Thalyssra shrewdly, like a jeweler deciding how best to cut a new gem to get the most profit out of it. 

“Master Ji Firepaw, leader of the Huojin pandaren.” 

The newest of the Horde leaders seemed the friendliest.  He waved a paw at Thalyssra, a grin splitting his muzzle. 

Liadrin saved the most important introduction for last. 

Atop a dais at the head of Grommash Hold, so as to command the gaze of all who entered, loomed the throne.  An imposing construct, all hides and bones and spikes, hammered together in rough orcish style.  But its occupant was no orc. 

“Before you sits the leader of the Horde, Warchief Sylvanas Windrunner, the Bansh--” 

“Spare the full litany, Liadrin,” Sylvanas cut in.  Her voice carried unnatural echoes, but it was blade-sharp and commanding.  “I imagine she knows who I am by now.” 

 _No, I have no idea who you truly are,_ Thalyssra thought.  _I'm here to find out._

Thalyssra took in her first sight of the woman who might become her new ruler. 

Sylvanas was the same race as Liadrin, or was once.  That same delicate Thalassian beauty, with thin eyebrows, high cheekbones, and a small, kiss-pouty mouth.  But while Liadrin’s flesh was a healthy peach, Sylvanas’s was a cold gray pallor.  Hair golden in life was now drained of its sheen.  A hooded cloak and kohl-lined eyes deepened her shadowy appearance. 

She wore armor beneath her cloak, with feathers edging her pauldrons.  Combined with her pale oval face and black-rimmed eyes, the feathers gave her the aspect of a brooding tyto. 

 _Well, I am no mouse for her to snatch up in her talons,_ Thalyssra reminded herself.  Thalyssra came here representing a noble people.  The reputation of the nightborne rested on her.  If she showed fear, her entire race would be taken for cowards.  So she stood tall in front of these strangers and straightened her shoulders. 

Liadrin cleared her throat.  “In that case, Warchief...  May I present the Dusk Lily, Thalyssra, First Arcanist of Suramar.” 

“An honor to make your acquaintance, Warchief and esteemed leaders of the Horde.” 

Thalyssra dipped her head to each of them in turn.  But it was the Warchief who kept her attention. 

Surprisingly, Sylvanas did not look like the half-decomposed bodies of her Forsaken.  There were no protruding bones or open guts, no frayed skin, no rot nor signs she bore disease.  The body was remarkably preserved.  She almost looked... alive? 

Thalyssra’s gaze met red eyes in an ashen face, and her veins chilled. 

Alive?  No, this was a dead thing.  A vengeful spirit taken hold of mortal form.

Thalyssra kept her expression calm and continued speaking. 

“I appreciate you allowing me to visit your city.  I come to negotiate with the Horde on behalf of my people.” 

“Then you speak for the nightborne, First Arcanist?” Sylvanas asked. 

“I do.”

Suramar was still recovering from Elisande’s downfall.  An interim leader was needed until a long-term solution could be established.  The woman who led the rebellion was a clear choice to guide them for the time being.  Or so the rest of the nightborne insisted to Thalyssra, despite her protests. 

Thalyssra did not overthrow Elisande because she wanted power for her own.  She did it because her people needed to be saved, no matter the cost to herself. 

“I once advised the Grand Magistrix as part of a noble council.  But many of Suramar’s nobles and officials died during the rebellion.  After we reclaimed our city, more were purged.” 

Sylvanas lifted an eyebrow.  “Purged?” 

“Put on trial and executed for betraying Suramar to the Legion.  I ordered their bodies buried in unconsecrated ground instead of entombed with our ancestors in Tel’anor as is traditional.  Traitors who massacred innocents do not deserve that honor.” 

The other leaders murmured among themselves in surprise.  Perhaps they had taken her race for nothing but soft, haughty self-indulgers.  Best they learned quickly that the shal’dorei would not stand for injustice.

Sylvanas nodded, unperturbed. 

“I know firsthand the pain of betrayal, First Arcanist.  You have my respect for not letting it break you.  Many are not so strong.” 

“We are only as strong as our will.  With the past brought to justice, the shal’dorei now look to the future.  Suramar owes a great debt to both Horde and Alliance.  Without your help, we would not have been able to reclaim our home from those fel traitors.  I came to Orgrimmar to learn more about the Horde and find out if our partnership could continue, for the benefit of us all.”

“Your presence is welcome here.  The Horde will not spurn an opportunity to speak with you,” Sylvanas said.  “But I must admit I was... skeptical when Liadrin told me of your intentions.” 

The way Sylvanas watched Thalyssra reminded her of a manawyrm watching a moth, waiting for it to flutter just close enough to snatch. 

“I have no time for games.  Let’s cut right to the point, First Arcanist.  Why side with the Horde?  You share more with night elves in the Alliance.  Not just physically, but your culture, your history, even your goddess.” 

True.  But the arcane barrier protecting Suramar also blocked out their sacred moonlight.  And ten thousand years of rule by a mage rather than a priestess had further secularized the nightborne.  Elune’s light still shone in the heart of every nightborne, but it was not the zealous blaze night elves carried. 

“Our paths diverged long ago,” Thalyssra said. 

Reuniting with their long-lost kin under the dire circumstances of the Legion invasion was tense for both races.  Distrust poisoned any bonds they once shared.  Nightborne lived and breathed arcane magic, the same magic that cracked the world into pieces like a cup dropped on stone.  Wounds from the Sundering had still not fully healed.  Tyrande and her ilk were eager to blame every arcanist for Azshara’s sins. 

Even so, the night elves willingly helped Suramar.  The rebellion would have been far longer and bloodier without their aid. 

Thalyssra held no grudge against her kin.  It was through one night elf druid’s compassion that the shal’dorei were freed from their dependency on the Nightwell by growing the Arcan’dor. 

“The kaldorei stood by us, fought for us.  Some died for us.  I will not belittle their sacrifice.  We have our differences, and we may end up on opposing sides of this war, but I cannot hate them.” 

Thalyssra met Sylvanas’s eyes defiantly. 

“And I certainly cannot condone slaughtering them and burning their home.”

Sylvanas’s mouth tightened.  A few of the other leaders winced and glanced at their ruler as if expecting an eruption.  Liadrin tried to nudge Thalyssra discreetly to call her off the topic.  It did not matter.  Thalyssra spoke for the nightborne.  For her people’s sake, she could not let herself be cowed, not by leaders or generals or even undead. 

“What’s done is done,” Sylvanas said curtly.  “With the night elf capital destroyed, we now control the entire continent.  This is our best chance for lasting peace.” 

“Peace is not born out of ashes.” 

“An Alliance attack would have come for us sooner or later,” Sylvanas argued.  Her gauntlets clenched on the arms of her throne.  “They plot our demise with every wretched breath.  By striking first, I ensured a future for the Horde in these lands!” 

“By stealing the future from all those you killed?”  Thalyssra shook her head.  “The shal’dorei want no part in such savagery.  I vowed we would end our long isolation as defenders of Azeroth, not conquerors.” 

Sylvanas reined herself in.  When next she spoke, her ghostly voice was so cold it seemed to chill the air of Grommash Hold, despite the warmth of the blazing torches. 

“Then why are you here?” 

Thalyssra took a deep breath.  Why was she here?  There was no guarantee the Horde would stop at controlling one continent.  Surely such a warlike faction would soon expand even further.  How long before Suramar and the rest of the Broken Isles became yet another battleground between Alliance and Horde, chewing Thalyssra’s beloved homeland apart like dogs fighting over a carcass? 

Better to choose a side now than to wait until the Battle for Azeroth arrived at Suramar’s gates.  By then, it would be too late to save themselves. 

“I believe there is good in the Horde,” Thalyssra replied.  “Despite everything, I believe it.” 

Liadrin interjected before the conversation could cross any more dangerous ground.  She probably regretted Thalyssra not taking seriously Liadrin’s earlier warning not to bring up Teldrassil unless the mage wanted her head to be in a long-distance relationship with the rest of her body. 

“Warchief, you stood for the blood elves when we were without allies.  My people would not have made it into the Horde without your support on our behalf.” 

Liadrin smiled at Thalyssra, who returned it. 

“I wish to extend the same support to the nightborne.  On my honor as a paladin, they have my personal backing to join the Horde.  Thalyssra’s people are noble, brave, and possess unwavering conviction.  I have faith they will strengthen our cause.  The blood elves welcome them.” 

Lor’themar nodded agreement.  Sylvanas was not so swayed. 

“It is not for blood elves alone to decide, Liadrin.  This matter concerns the entire Horde.” 

Sylvanas made it quite clear _she_ was the one who spoke for the Horde.  The nightborne would not gain an inch unless she permitted it. 

Thalyssra stepped a bit closer to the throne, treading over the hide map on the floor. 

“Do not mistake me, Warchief.  I do not come to you as a supplicant to beg the Horde’s acceptance.  I come as a negotiating power.  We nightborne are a dignified people.” 

Thalyssra looked around the throne room, making sure she had the attention of all the leaders. 

“It is _you_ who must convince _me_ the Horde will make a worthy ally for my people.” 

“Every race carries their weight within the Horde,” Sylvanas said.  “What can your nightborne bring us?” 

“We are not a large population, especially after Elisande and her vile allies killed so many…” 

Thalyssra paused to regain her composure. 

“But what we lack in numbers we make up for in power.  The nightborne have wise tacticians, skilled fighters, and unmatched magical acuity to offer the Horde.  Beyond the city, our lands contain rich natural resources.”

“The Horde has all of these things.  We conquered half the world without nightborne help.” 

The bravado did not impress Thalyssra.  “You also lost your hold on the other half of the world,” she retorted. 

Red eyes flared as if Sylvanas's temper might rear its head again.  Clearly, the loss of Undercity was still a sore subject. 

Thalyssra warned the Warchief and the other leaders, “Alliance blades edge ever closer to the Horde’s throat.  Burning Teldrassil did not win you the war.” 

It was time to play the decisive move on this board. 

Thalyssra smoothed her purple tabard to hide her nervous anticipation.  What she was about to drop on the Horde would not only determine whether the nightborne had firm ground to negotiate upon, it might also determine whether Thalyssra walked out of Orgrimmar alive. 

“We shal’dorei have something else to bring the Horde.  Something you do not have.” 

“Oh?  Pray tell, First Arcanist.” 

Sylvanas’s voice dripped amused skepticism.  But there were a few drops of curiosity sprinkled in.  Good. 

“I brought you a gift, as a gesture of goodwill from the nightborne.”

Thalyssra beckoned to Liadrin’s two Blood Knights who had followed them in. 

“Paladins, if you will.” 

They hauled Thalyssra’s large treasure chest to her with grunts of exertion. 

“Thank you, gentlemen.  I shall take it from here.” 

What took two muscular men to carry, Thalyssra now lifted easily with magic.  She could have levitated the chest from the start of the meeting, but she wanted to make an impression at the right time. 

Her fingertips glowed as arcane energy stirred within her.  Her silver forearm bands were in fact enchanted bracers, the kind used by many mages to stabilize the flow of magic from their hands when they cast.  But she hardly needed stabilizers for so small a flex of her power. 

The streams of magic filling her veins were a comfort.  Even in this strange place, the familiarity of the arcane was with her always.  The purest of energies, the force that shaped reality itself.  It suffused Thalyssra, as much a part of her as her own soul.

She levitated the chest across the room and set it down at the base of the Warchief’s dais.  Another flick of magic made the lock click open, just waiting for the lid to be lifted to reveal its treasure. 

A silent figure lurked in the shadows behind Sylvanas’s throne.  A human, though his face bore the grayness of death like hers.  Sylvanas murmured a command to him.  He stepped down the dais and flung open the chest for all to see.

Every breath in the room caught.  Well, those who were alive enough to breathe. 

Chunks of ore filled the chest to the brim, softly gleaming with yellow and blue radiance. 

Azerite. 

These past few months since the Legion’s defeat, Azerite ruptures began bursting forth across the world’s surface.  First in Silithus, then spreading spottily to the rest of Azeroth. 

It was kinder to call such an ore-burst a “rupture” than what it really was.  The hemorrhaging lifeblood of their wounded planet.  The essence of Azeroth herself, bleeding and coagulating into rocky clusters. 

The ore held vast magical power.  In mortal hands, such power could make or unmake armies, cities, entire nations.  Horde and Alliance stretched to their fullest to grab any Azerite they could find, like undergrowth-choked plants reaching for sunlight. 

It was a race for the power of their world itself.  The winner would rule Azeroth. 

So ravenous were both factions for this new resource that the initial deposits in Silithus had been quickly depleted.  The unpredictable ruptures that burst in patches all over the world offered much smaller yield.

There was much gnashing of teeth on both sides over the fact no one could track where or when a rupture would occur.  The closest they came was crude goblin technology that could detect a rupture, but only if it was nearby, and only with a few minutes warning before the burst. 

Thalyssra’s chest was a sizable haul.  So much Azerite would have taken squadron after squadron of Horde champions working tirelessly for days or even weeks to gather, with thousands of miles of travel.  Yet Thalyssra handed it to them as a mere token. 

Gallywix’s jaw was hanging open. 

Lor’themar overcame his surprise enough to ask, “How did you come by such a gift, First Arcanist?” 

“My advisors and I harvested an Azerite rupture yesterday, on an island off Suramar’s coast.” 

“Yesterday, you said?” Saurfang asked, scowling. 

Baine added, “The Horde didn't even know there was a rupture yesterday!  Much less where.” 

Sylvanas clicked first.  The true meaning behind Thalyssra’s gift. 

“You can track ruptures.”

 _That_ certainly caused a stir. 

Shocked mutters erupted throughout Grommash Hold as the Horde leaders leaned forward attentively in their chairs, several of them whispering to each other and gesturing emphatically.  Ji Firepaw let out a whistle of astonishment, and even stoic Saurfang went wide-eyed.  Only Sylvanas stayed motionless.  As still as a forgotten tomb, but her eyes raced like she was deep in the throes of a dream.

Even Liadrin was looking at Thalyssra in amazement.  She had no idea what that chest contained when she escorted her friend here. 

Thalyssra let it sink in for them for a few moments.  The enormity of what she offered was clear to everyone in the room.  If the nightborne could be convinced to join the Horde, this new ability would yield incredible advantage.  No more scurrying around haphazardly in small teams, contesting the Alliance over mere handfuls of ore at a time. 

The Battle for Azeroth would not be over cleanly nor quickly.  But the tide would certainly turn in the Horde’s favor.

“Suramar is veined with leylines which seep liquid mana to the surface, where it hardens into mana crystals that can be gathered.  While cut off from the Nightwell during the rebellion, we were forced to live off these crystals.  Tracking and harvesting mana was not just a useful resource, it was essential to our survival.” 

Sylvanas tapped a fingertip against her lips pensively. 

“So...  Azerite ruptures work similarly to leylines and mana crystals?” 

“Similarly enough, Warchief, for our skills to carry over with a little adaptation.  No one is better suited to this task than nightborne.  The shal’dorei are masters of arcane magic, the magic of the Titans.  And Azeroth herself is a Titan.  Her arcane lifeblood calls to us, like a song at the edge of hearing.” 

Azerite tracking was still in the early stages.  Valtrois, Suramar’s most skilled leyline reader, was hard at work refining it with the rest of the team.  With breaks for Valtrois’s beauty naps, of course.  During which time Oculeth usually got distracted by one of his warp-device projects and wandered off to his workshop.  Sometimes, Thalyssra’s friends made her feel like she was herding cats. 

Valtrois mapped the Azerite veins to find rupture points, Oculeth’s telemancy transported the three elves directly to the site of a rupture, and Thalyssra worked the arcane energies to safely harvest the Azerite without destroying it.  Or destroying _them._  

Tracking Azerite was the easy part.  The danger lay in the harvest. 

“Harvesting” was a deceptively harmless term.  Thalyssra was not scything crops so much as milking cobra venom.  Magic of such power could be… volatile.  Mishandling a raw Azerite rupture would kill the harvester.  Worst case scenario, it would also detonate the Azerite, reducing the surrounding area and all inhabitants to a crater. 

“I shall not give out all our secrets just yet.  But rest assured, the nightborne method of predicting ruptures is far more accurate than cobbled-together goblin machinery.”

Gallywix spluttered indignantly.  A warning glance from the Warchief quieted him.

The nightborne’s Azerite tracking was far from foolproof.  But the Horde did not need to know that.  When negotiating, best to seem more confident than you actually were.  Still, Thalyssra did not lie, their method was indeed more reliable than the shaky technology the Horde currently depended on. 

“Enjoy our gift,” Thalyssra said in closing. 

She cast her eyes around the room, locking with each leader one by one. 

“And think on the situation.  There is much my people can do for the Horde.  Prove to me what you can do for us that the Alliance cannot.” 

Sylvanas might have been unconvinced when Thalyssra first stepped into Grommash Hold, but now…  Dead eyes were fixed on the gleaming chest.  Thalyssra could not tell whether the Warchief was seeing the Azerite itself, or the Horde-dominated future she envisioned using it for.

Sylvanas looked up, meeting Thalyssra with new regard. 

“We will discuss your offer, First Arcanist.” 

* * *

 


	2. Orgrimmar Arc - Valuable Resources

* * *

 

“We will discuss your offer, First Arcanist.”

 _This meeting took an unexpected turn_ , Sylvanas thought.

Usually, Sylvanas hated surprises.  Hated the feeling of powerlessness that came with being caught unawares.  Yet this particular surprise intrigued her.

Thalyssra's chest of Azerite at the foot of the dais glinted in the torchlight.

Nathanos left the chest open and silently returned to his place behind Sylvanas’s throne.  In life they were comrades, and in death he was the closest thing Sylvanas had to a friend.  More importantly, he was a loyal follower.  He would not stir unless she commanded.

“Liadrin, escort our guest to her accommodations.  Ensure she has everything she needs during her stay in Orgrimmar.”

“Yes, Warchief.”

Liadrin saluted and turned to lead the First Arcanist out of Grommash Hold.  Thalyssra was so tall it made Liadrin look like a filly trying to lead her dam around.

Thalyssra gave Sylvanas a polite half-bow before following Liadrin, but no more than half.  She was not Sylvanas's subject yet, that gesture warned.

Sylvanas dipped her head to Thalyssra to acknowledge respect.  Sylvanas had hunted prey from all across Azeroth, never missing her mark.  But she could tell this mage would not be easy quarry.

Discussion broke out among the seated Horde leaders as soon as Thalyssra left the throne room.  She had given them much to chew on.

“So, that's the Dusk Lily,” Lor’themar said.  “A striking woman.  I could feel her arcane power from across the room!  If her people are even a fraction as adept with magic as she is, they would be a great boon to the Horde.”

Baine’s voice rumbled from deep within his broad chest.  “Power alone does not make a leader.  I see more in her.  I see why she inspired her people to rise against their oppressor.”

Sylvanas agreed.  She could admire Thalyssra staying regal under pressure and confronting the Horde in their own territory.  She would make a formidable ally.  ...If she could be trusted.  Sylvanas was short on trust these days.  Not that she had ever been generous with it.

Liadrin she trusted to a degree.  Liadrin had advised that aiding the nightborne would help the war against the Legion.  Sylvanas heeded, sending Horde soldiers and supplies to Suramar under the paladin’s command.

When Liadrin brought back tales of the First Arcanist, the mage who led the nightborne rebellion, Sylvanas pictured a frail, bookish woman.  Or a daft scatterbrain like Khadgar.  Mages were not known for strong physical presence.

But meeting the Dusk Lily in the flesh spun that notion on its head.  Lor'themar was right.  A striking woman indeed.

Heavy fangs flashed every time Thalyssra spoke in that smooth, wise voice.  Her long limbs and lean muscles were left bare by diaphanous garments as delicate as a lacewing moth.  Gleaming tattoos graced her cheekbones, poured along her shoulders, forearms, and legs, and winged the sides of her abdomen.  The designs were intricate white lines and runes, like a star chart mapped onto her body.  The arcane was etched into her very skin.

Thalyssra’s back had remained straight with pride, and she met Sylvanas's gaze directly.  All Sylvanas saw in those eyes, eyes like moonlight, was confidence.  Not the fear or revulsion Sylvanas was used to seeing even in the eyes of fellow Horde.

When Thalyssra cast her spell to lift that large chest of ore, her fingertips shone with power.  Power mastered by her own will.  Even when not casting, she radiated magic like a forge radiated heat.

Lor'themar said, “I concur with Lady Liadrin.  We should welcome the shal’dorei into the Horde.”  He added in warning, “If we reject them, it might drive them toward the Alliance.”

As he was driven toward Horde by Alliance rejection, Sylvanas knew.  She did the same when seeking support for her people.  Alliance was Sylvanas's first choice, Horde only a marriage of convenience.

She and her Forsaken threw their lot in with the Horde simply for survival, and for allies to help take vengeance against the Lich King.  Gradually, it became something more.  The dead could never _belong_ among the living, yet the Horde had become a home of sorts.

Sylvanas's heart had not beat in years.  But she would be lying if she said it hadn’t grown just a little attached to her fellow Horde.  The Alliance meant nothing to her now.  Not after they spurned her people as monsters.

She bore no naive illusions Thalyssra came to Orgrimmar purely out of friendship.  The First Arcanist would join whichever faction offered better for Suramar.  Sylvanas must convince Thalyssra the nightborne would be safer and stronger with the Horde backing them.

She drummed her fingers on the arm of her throne in thought.  Recruiting Thalyssra would prove a worthy challenge.  Sylvanas was already plotting how to seize the upper hand in negotiations.

Ji Firepaw pumped a fist in eagerness.  “A woman of action!  The First Arcanist didn't hesitate to defend her people.  Let them into the Horde, I say!  We stand much to gain with the nightborne at our side.”

“Hmph...”  The dubious growl came from Saurfang.

Too many battles had been lost in the forests of Kalimdor, too many orc lives claimed by night elf arrows, for Saurfang to like associating with kaldorei or their kin.  But even he must admit they were fierce fighters when roused.

Saurfang left his chair and walked onto the map of stitched hides covering the floor of Grommash Hold.  He rubbed his knuckles along his jaw as he considered the territory beneath his boots.

“There could be strategic advantages in allying with the nightborne,” Saurfang acknowledged, pointing to the map.  “Suramar is far closer to the Eastern Kingdoms than we are.  A strong staging point for our future assaults.”

Portals were the fastest way to travel, but mages could only do so much.  It was more practical to move large armies the mundane way, by ship or march.  Safe harbor in Suramar would be instrumental to the war effort.

Lor’themar put in, “Suramar would also give us a hold on the surrounding land.  The Broken Isles should be easy to conquer with the nightborne spearheading our charge.  If we don’t, Dalaran will surely try to claim the Isles for the Alliance instead.”

Sylvanas nodded affirmation.  Dalaran still hovered over the Broken Isles, but it had returned to Alliance control when the Battle for Azeroth broke out.  The Kirin Tor banished all blood elves from the city.  Again.

Except Aethas Sunreaver.  He had pleaded hard for blood elves to be allowed back into Dalaran after the purge a few years ago, insisting the Horde was trustworthy.  Now that the Horde betrayed Dalaran yet again, Aethas was the only blood elf allowed to stay.  Oh yes, he would be staying quite some time.  Lady Proudmoore’s ice magic kept the corpse preserved in Dalaran’s main square for all to see.

Rokhan let out a harrumph around his tusks.

“All right, mon, maybe these nightborne could be useful.  But the First Arcanist overstates her position.  All that talk about _us_ convincin’ _her_.  She be havin’ nowhere else to turn but us Horde!  Alliance won’t take her.  The night elves dislike her people.”

“They dislike the destruction of their homeland even more,” Sylvanas countered with a wry twist of her lips.  “If it aids their vengeance against the Horde, I suspect the night elves would bury their dislike far enough to allow their nightborne cousins into the Alliance.  Suramar is not in our pocket quite yet.”

She must not grow overconfident.  Pride was Sylvanas's chief sin, she well knew.  But she did not get this far without careful planning and calculated strikes.

“True.  Nothing brings people together like a common enemy,” Saurfang said.  He left the floor map and returned to his chair.  “That was how all your races found their way into the Horde.”

Saurfang’s gray hair was evidence of decades as a general, ever since the Horde’s founding.  He had seen Warchiefs come and go.  He fought loyally beside them all, and outlasted them all.  If Sylvanas proved a failure for the Horde, she knew he would not weep to see another Warchief take her place.

Gallywix spoke up, perched like some fat predatory bird atop the stack of cushions on his chair.

“Troops, territory, strategic positions…  You all know that's just spare change compared to what the nightborne truly offer us.  Azerite’s the real ticket to winning this war.”

Gallywix frowned skeptically at the chest of Azerite ore Thalyssra brought.

“But how do we know their Azerite tracking really works?  Maybe she just got lucky with this batch.”

A twirl of his cane made its gems catch the torchlight.

“I met a guy once, years ago.  A vendor working the streets of Kezan.  Offered to sell me a samophlange.”

Everyone stared at the goblin.

“A… what?” Ji asked, bear-nose twitching in confusion.

Baine shook his horned head at the pandaren, equally baffled.

“Hell if I know,” Gallywix replied.  “But it was the best gunk-damn samophlange on any continent!  Or so he claimed.  Just rivet that baby onto your preferred piece of machinery, and the samophlange would boost the speed, clean the pipes, amp up the power level, even make the fumes clear your skin too, while we’re at it!  Best bargain I ever heard!  So I bought that samophlange and went home several bags of gold lighter.  Turned out, the samophlange didn't speed up my machines.  Didn't do much at all.  Just sat there mocking me like the world’s most expensive paperweight.”

“What did you do then?” Sylvanas asked.

Gallywix shrugged.  “Maybe I learned my lesson and moved on from my defeat like a gentleman.”  He smirked, showing glittering gold teeth.  “...Or maybe I found that scumbag and gave him some clay shoes out in Kezan Bay.  I can’t quite remember, hmm?”

He pointed a begemmed finger at Sylvanas in warning.

“This Dusk Lily and her too-good-to-be-true Azerite tracking…  Take care you don't buy yourself a samophlange, Warchief.  The entire Horde will pay the price.”

“Noted.”

Greasy though his advice was, she did not disregard it.  Gallywix was as slippery as a Vashj’ir eel, but there was a reason other fish kept their distance.  Fat coils and sparky displays masked the eel’s sharp jaws.  It was wise not to underestimate him.

“The choice of recruiting the nightborne stands before us.”  Sylvanas's voice rang throughout her throne room.  “What say you?”

Gallywix and Rokhan voted No, on account of the nightborne not yet proving they were trustworthy enough to be allowed into the Horde.  But Lor’themar, Baine, and Ji voted Yes.  After peering at the map again as if imagining how it might soon change, Saurfang added a cautious Yes.

It was safe to say feelings among her advisors were mixed.

“We will pursue negotiations with First Arcanist Thalyssra,” Sylvanas announced.

Advisory council or not, Sylvanas was ruler here.  The decision belonged to her.

“You might not like the idea of nightborne fighting beneath the Horde banner.  But I promise you will like even less for them to fight beneath the Alliance banner.”

She rose from her throne and stepped down the dais to where the open chest of Azerite sat.  The ore inside gleamed, beckoning any who were brave enough to seize their destiny.

“Think of the nightborne as… a valuable resource.”

She nudged the chest with her boot.

“Like Azerite.  By claiming the nightborne, we are harvesting a valuable resource before the Alliance does.”

For such a prize as Thalyssra and her nightborne, it was worth the risk.  Not only could the nightborne track Azerite for the Horde, they could help the Horde utilize it.  A race of powerful mages, their skills honed for thousands of years?  Imagine the weapons they could build, the victories they could ensure for Sylvanas’s Horde!

Oh yes, Thalyssra’s people were a valuable resource indeed.  And resources were meant to be used.  Used to depletion, if need be.

“The lifeblood of the Titan belongs to the Horde.   _We_ will shape Azeroth’s future, not the Alliance,” Sylvanas declared to the other leaders.  “This is the greatest war the Horde has yet faced.  Make no mistake, we fight for our very existence in this world.”

Only through dominance could they ensure their survival.  Relying on Alliance kindness was not a survival strategy.  If the Horde lost the Battle for Azeroth, Sylvanas and her Forsaken would be tied up and thrown into bonfires as monsters.  The other Horde races would face imprisonment, slavery, or outright culling, like they had before in the Alliance’s clutches.

Sylvanas had vowed to secure a future for her people.  She would fight to the bitter end to see their survival ensured, to save her Forsaken from the damnation that would come with true death.

But the other Horde races were her people now, too.  She ruled them all, and she would protect them all.

Winning this war would strengthen the Horde beyond measure.  The stronger the Horde was, the safer each of its members would be, including the nightborne.  If Thalyssra joined their ranks, the goal of a prosperous future for all their races would be within reach at last.

Rokhan thumbed his tusk warily.

“No offense, Warchief, but you elves be switchin’ sides often.  What if we let the nightborne in and they betray us to the Alliance?”

A reasonable concern.  The Horde was built upon trust between races who had little in common _except_ that trust in each other.  Any single race fracturing that bond could splinter into collapse for the entire faction.

If the nightborne proved treacherous, well…  Sylvanas tread over the northwest corner of the floor map.  The stitched hide depicting one particular landmass was burnt and blackened.

The other leaders murmured uneasily, some going so far as to avert their eyes.  Teldrassil’s ashes were an unsettling reminder even to Sylvanas’s allies.

Serve the Horde or be crushed beneath it.  That’s what Garrosh always threatened.  The others rarely spoke of him, wanting to put the painful past behind them.  But Sylvanas forced herself to remember his failure.  She refused to let her reign end the way his did.

“If the nightborne betray us, I will make all of Suramar weep for a return to the days the Legion held their city.”

Sylvanas ground her heel into the burnt map.

_First Arcanist Thalyssra, you will serve my purpose, or you and your people will be crushed like the rest._

* * *

 


	3. Orgrimmar Arc - The Grand Magistrix

 

* * *

 

Hewn into the high rock walls of Orgrimmar’s canyon was a second tier of buildings.  Thalyssra followed Liadrin as the paladin escorted her along stone corridors into these tiered dwellings, above the noisy press of the main city.

Past rows of doors, they arrived at one in particular.  The guest chambers Thalyssra would be occupying during this emissary mission to the Horde capital.

Liadrin held the door for Thalyssra in knightly fashion, then closed it behind them once they entered the room together.

“The Warchief ordered accommodations prepared.  For as long as your visit here lasts.”

Thalyssra lowered her decorative hood, letting her long white hair flow free.  She ran a tattooed hand through the strands while she inspected these chambers.  A simple orcish dwelling, but it had all the necessities, and it was clean and well-spaced.

Sunshine poured in from a little balcony overlooking the canyon.  The main chamber had an attached washing room, a table with two rattan stools, and a hide rug to soften the stone floor.  A bead curtain added some color to the room.  The “bed” consisted of a stack of reed mats and wool blankets on the floor.

Worlds apart from lavish Suramar, but Thalyssra did not mind.

Liadrin shifted apprehensively.  “I do hope you find these chambers acceptable.  This is the most refined Orgrimmar has to offer, I’m afraid.  Orcs are not known for comfort.”

“My friends and I lived in a cave during the rebellion.  This is luxury.”

The two elves laughed together.  Laughter set a soft gleam in Thalyssra’s arcane tattoos.

“Here, your traveler’s pack.”  Liadrin handed the buckled tan pack to Thalyssra.  “If you require anything you did not bring from Suramar, you need only ask.  I am at your service.”

Thalyssra put just a tiny bit of teasing into her voice.  “Because the Warchief ordered you to be?”

“You know that is not the reason.  We are friends, aren’t we?”

For answer, Thalyssra wrapped Liadrin in a hug.

“Thank you, Liadrin.  For everything.  Your noble deeds played no small part in convincing me to undertake this journey.  You are an exemplar of the Horde.”

Embracing someone in plate armor was a peculiar sensation.  Liadrin hugged back warmly, though she was not even tall enough to peek her eyes over Thalyssra’s shoulder.  Even barefoot as usual, Thalyssra stood head and shoulders above blood elves.

Thalyssra must get used to being around people shorter than nightborne.  She hoped she did not accidentally step on any goblins during her stay.

“The honor was mine, Thalyssra.  I pray to someday welcome you into the Horde permanently.”

They stepped apart.

“Now, I must oversee my Blood Knights, and I expect the Warchief will occupy your time with negotiations over the next few days.  But never hesitate to call on me during your stay.  If you have questions about the Horde, or simply feel lonely, or… anything.”

Liadrin’s face exuded its usual confidence, but her ears gave a shy twitch.  She looked as if she wanted to say more.  Yet she refrained.

“Aran’arcana.  Arcane shelter you,” Thalyssra said in farewell.  “See you soon, friend.”

Once Liadrin shut the door behind her, Thalyssra was alone.

She took a deep breath to steady herself.  The sunshine streaming in from the balcony warmed some vigor back into her nerve-shaky body.

She had not let Liadrin see it, but Thalyssra was tense.  The future of all nightborne rested on Thalyssra’s shoulders.  She must conduct herself in an upright manner in front of the Horde if she wanted to bear her people with the dignity they deserved.

“This emissary mission is going well so far,” she told herself.  “The Warchief and her Horde have not threatened hostility against Suramar yet.  No reason to worry.”

Perhaps Thalyssra was trying to convince herself.

Her bulging traveler’s pack thumped slightly when set down on the table.  She unbuckled it to sort through the belongings she brought from Suramar. 

From the pack, she pulled an enchanted crystal.  Thalyssra’s fingers glowed with arcane energy as she clasped the crystal in her hand and spoke an incantation.  Her glow seeped into the crystal, stirring its enchantments like waking a sprout from a seed.

Through the crystal, she cast a thread of magic that resonated within a matching crystal back in Suramar.

Thalyssra waited, still channeling the spell.  She did not wait long.  The person on the other end caught the thread expertly.  After all, he created this pair of crystals.

Linked now, the communicator crystal in Thalyssra’s hand conjured an image in the air above it.  The image was translucent and wavy from the arcane projection, but Oculeth was clearly visible.

He grinned as soon as her face came into view above his own crystal in Suramar, on the other end of their linked spell.

“Thalyssra!  Glad to see you made it.”

“It lifts my spirit to hear your familiar voice in this strange place, Oculeth.”

Even thousands of miles away, her old friend was always a source of encouragement.  He was one of the first to join the Dusk Lily rebellion, the first to believe Thalyssra truly could save the shal’dorei from their corrupt Grand Magistrix.  Thalyssra never found the words to express to him how much his belief strengthened her own during those early days.

“How went the first meeting with the Horde?  You’re still alive, so that must be a positive.”

“Well, I certainly got their attention.  Valtrois’s idea to bring Azerite was a success.  Please thank her for me, and tell her to continue her leyline research so we can harvest more.”

“She will be happy to.  Any excuse to work with her blue dragon friend.”

The joking emphasis Oculeth put on “friend” drew a laugh from them both.  Poor Valtrois was smitten so badly, but too proud to admit it.

“And your accommodations, are they... comfortable?”

That was code.  He meant whether it was safe to speak openly.  The sharpest dangers were those that went unseen until too late.  Thalyssra could not sense any magical eavesdroppers, but...  Best for her and Oculeth not to say anything they did not want overheard.

“I am not sure yet,” Thalyssra admitted.  “For now, I will tread lightly and be careful who I trust here.”

Oculeth rubbed a palm over his shaven head in worry.

“I don’t like the idea of you in Orgrimmar alone.  We should have sent guards with you.  Or asked one of our outlander champions to act as emissary instead.”

“No, Oculeth.  If the Horde does turn hostile, I shall be glad I came alone to avoid endangering anyone with me.  Besides, I carried out this mission myself because I’m the temporary leader of our people.  I will have more bargaining power than an outlander merely speaking on our behalf.”

Oculeth hesitated, but eventually agreed.

“You're too brave for your own good, Thalyssra.  Well, if you feel homesick, just hold that charm I made you and think of our beloved Suramar.”

Thalyssra patted her belt pouch.  The little runed stone he gave her was tucked in there.  It was a “charm” only for the ears of any who might be listening.  In truth, it was a miniature telemancy beacon.  Tiny, only enough energy for one person to make one trip.  But it would get Thalyssra out of trouble and teleport her home if negotiations with the Horde went… sour.

“And what was your impression of the Horde leaders, Thalyssra?  Do you believe they will meet our concerns?”

Thalyssra tilted her head for a moment, considering.  Sometimes a ruler was only a figurehead, while their advisors held true power.  Not so with the Horde.  Sylvanas held the reins for sure, now that Thalyssra had seen it for herself.

“The other leaders are not the crux of the matter.  The Warchief is the one we must woo.”

“Woo?”  Oculeth’s voice carried a hint of humor.

“Figuratively!”

Much still required negotiation before Thalyssra could offer terms for Suramar’s allegiance.  The nightborne would only join if the Horde could prove worth joining.  And even if Suramar did choose Horde over Alliance, it would take at least a few days to hammer out details with Sylvanas and the other leaders.

Thalyssra’s leadership was temporary, but the results of her emissary mission were not.  She must ensure Suramar became an equal member of the Horde, not just a vassal state with no say in how they were treated.  Whoever was chosen to be the permanent leader of the nightborne, he or she could never let Sylvanas use them like pieces on a game board to suit her own ends.

“Very well, Thalyssra.  We will keep Suramar running smoothly until you return.  Per your instructions, Silgryn has the Duskwatch Guard maintaining order and overseeing rebuilding.”

“How go the cleansing efforts?”

Oculeth gave a soul-weary sigh.  “Fel taint is not easily removed, unfortunately.  Streets and domes are simple to rebuild.  Hearts and memories, not so much.  Many shal'dorei already regret the loss of Suramar’s shield.”

Thalyssra idly shifted her bare feet on the hide rug of her chamber while she thought.  Emotional wounds of Elisande’s tyranny and the Legion invasion were difficult enough to overcome, but the nightborne also needed to adjust as a society now that their isolation was ended.  Trying times for their race, indeed.

“We cannot rely on our shield any longer,” Thalyssra said.  “A bird must have the strength to pierce its own shell to come into the world, else it will die before ever being born.  But the nightborne are strong enough.  I believe in our people.  We shall survive the death of our shell, and go forth to experience this new wide world.”

“And someday we shall fly,” Oculeth said.  He smiled, though a bit timorously.  “But it will be a long time before Suramar is whole again.  The nightborne have much to rebuild.”

“Then rebuild we will,” Thalyssra promised.  “One day at a time.”

Oculeth smiled more confidently now, his spirits buoyed by her encouragement.

“Some good news, Thalyssra.  Most of those exiled by Elisande have returned home!  Refugees probably will continue trickling into the city for weeks.  Any close to withering are given immediate treatment with arcfruit.  Sadly, some minds are too far gone to bring back.”

The Grand Magistrix was merciless in cutting her own people off from the Nightwell, their only sustenance.  At the slightest hint of defiance or of sympathy for the rebels, she banished them into the wilderness to wither away.  Those she did not simply feed to Legion demons.

In her cruelty, Elisande did not realize such atrocities only bolstered the opposition against her.  And many of those she doomed to wither ended up in the ranks of the rebels.  Oculeth had found it particularly satisfying to warp-deliver packs of Withered directly into the noble district of the city to cause havoc.

“At least those lost souls can be pacified,” Thalyssra said.  “As with Theryn and the other Withered we took under our wing.  We cannot restore sanity, but we can grant relief.”

Oculeth nodded eagerly, his image still shimmering in the air above the communicator crystal in Thalyssra’s hand.

“Regardless, all the refugees are exultant to be back home and see it free of the tyrant and her fel allies,” Oculeth assured her.  “We have no shortage of volunteers for rebuilding efforts.  Rebels and civilians alike.”

“My heart sings to see the shal'dorei rising to these challenges,” she said, spirit blazing with pride.

“Indeed.  You should hear them, Thalyssra!  One and all, our people speak of the hope they carry now.  They feared the Legion crushed it forever.  Then the Dusk Lily rebellion gave us back the courage we need to face this world.  No one knows what the future will hold for us...  But every nightborne stands ready to follow the Grand Magistrix into it.”

That made Thalyssra blink.  “The Grand Magistrix is dead.”

Oculeth met her eyes steadily.  He wore a small, proud smile.

It took her a moment.  Then realization slammed into her like the devilsaur Su’esh rampaging out of the Menagerie.  She nearly choked.

“Me?!  But I --”

“The advisory council convened shortly after you left for Orgrimmar.  The decision was unanimous!  A proper coronation can wait until you return.  But the deed is done.  The title is yours.”

Shal’dorei did not use the title Queen.  Too painful a reminder of Azshara and her sins that sundered the world.  But the Grand Magistrix was a queen in every other sense.  Thalyssra would not just lead, she would _rule_.

Thalyssra’s ears trembled.  The enormity of what Oculeth had so cheerfully placed in her lap was overwhelming.

Would she be up to such a solemn duty?  There would be no more “temporary” leadership, no one to pass responsibility to when the burden grew too heavy for her to bear.  Grand Magistrix was a title for life.

Oculeth bobbed with enthusiasm.  “I couldn't agree more with this choice!  The Dusk Lily will lead the shal’dorei into a new era.”

Thalyssra, still dazed, replied, “I pray it will be a bright era, not another chapter of darkness...”

She looked into his face, so full of trust and hope.  Trust and hope in _her_.

Thalyssra firmed with determination.  She could do this.  She _would_ do this.  She would lead these people who had put their faith in her.  Never shirk, never try to pass the weight to another.

She would not fail the nightborne as Elisande did.

“As Grand Magistrix, I will give my utmost to protect our people,” she vowed.  “No matter what we face in this world.”

“Ru-shanna shal’dorei,” Oculeth said.

“The nightborne will survive,” Thalyssra echoed in agreement.

She clenched her jaw.  The nightborne _must_ survive.  Whatever it took.  Even joining the Horde.

“I am unsure how long this emissary mission might take.  I shall update you on my progress.  Wish me luck, old friend.”

They bade farewell, and Thalyssra let the communicator spell disperse.  The arcane projection shimmered into thin air, the glow fading from the crystal in her hand.

Thalyssra put the crystal away and settled into her chambers.  She washed her face and hands while she tried to plan the next move of her mission.

Sylvanas and the other Horde leaders needed time to discuss, but surely it would not be long before they were ready to open formal negotiations.  The promise of Azerite was a steep motivator.

Thalyssra was certain she had the upper hand in negotiations for now.  The nightborne’s ability to predict Azerite bursts was more valuable than any army or territory.  The Horde ought to be amenable to Suramar’s demands.

She mused aloud, “If I maintain a firm grip on the situation, I can ensure my people get the best we can out of this allegiance.”

It would be an uphill battle.  Surely the Warchief would grapple to regain the upper hand herself.

“The Horde will not find the Grand Magistrix of Suramar an easy conquest,” Thalyssra promised herself.

Hunger squeezed her stomach, interrupting her thoughts.  Not mundane hunger.  A hunger for something more potent.

“That time already?” she murmured.

After a little rummaging in her pack, she pulled out a bundle carefully wrapped in soft cloth.  She unwound it, revealing a blue bulb-shaped fruit, heavy with mana-rich juices.

Arcfruit.  The salvation of the shal’dorei.

Thalyssra sat on one of the rattan stools at her table to eat.

The first bite was always cool and sweet.  A rush of energy as the nectar swam straight to her head before filling the rest of her, from throat to fingertips.  Every time, this energy soothed her cravings and replenished her mana like a dry riverbed drinking up rainfall.  She felt... whole again.

It was not the refined, artificial taste of mana from the Nightwell.  Arcwine carried a bittersweet flush.  But arcfruit’s taste was more natural.  A raw, earthy terroir.  Oculeth and Valtrois teased her for it, but the closest Thalyssra could come to describing arcfruit’s essence was “fresh-tilled soil under moonlight”.

With the death of the Nightwell, vinting arcwine was no longer possible.  The nightborne relied instead on the Arcan’dor, the tree which bore arcfruit.

Farodin, the night elf druid who guided them in growing the Arcan’dor, said the key to breaking their mana addiction lay in rebalancing their arcane force with their life force.  The shal'dorei had been too long isolated under their arcane shield, too long entrenched in their own artificial decadence.  They needed to return to their roots.  Only eating arcfruit, the very blending of arcane and living matter, could bring their bodies back into balance with their over-steeped magical powers.

Arcfruit had restored Thalyssra and the other rebels from their shriveled, near-withering state back to their true forms.  Yet, echoes of the Nightwell lingered even after its death.  Ten thousand years of dependency was not easily washed out of a bloodline.

Periodically eating arcfruit, as Thalyssra was now, kept them stable.  The Arcan’dor would eventually heal every nightborne of dependency.

“Someday we shall fly,” Oculeth had said.  He was right.  Gradually, the nightborne could wean off arcfruit altogether.  In a generation or two, their race would no longer be dependent on consuming external mana at all.  They would face no limits on their magic but their own willpower.  All by the blessing of the Arcan’dor.

It would take time before the addiction was truly gone.  But as Suramar itself was rebuilding, so too were its people slowly cleansing.

Thalyssra kept eating, savoring each bite of arcfruit and letting its juice linger on her tongue before swallowing.

A sharp knock came at the door of her chamber.

She stood up, surprised.  Had Liadrin forgotten something?  Leaving the arcfruit on the table, Thalyssra opened the door.

It was not Liadrin.

A row of dreadguards stood rigidly at attention along the stone corridor.  At their lead, raising a fist as if to knock again, was Sylvanas.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tweaking arcfruit canon a little for this story. Next chapter gives more clarification.


	4. Orgrimmar Arc - Indulge Me

 

* * *

 

Opening the door of her guest quarters to see a cluster of undead in the corridor was startling, to say the least.  That one of those undead was ruler of nearly half of Azeroth only added to Thalyssra’s dismay.

“Warchief!  A... pleasant surprise.”

Well, it was a surprise at least.  The unannounced visit caught her off guard.  Perhaps that was Sylvanas's intent.

Sylvanas stood expectantly in the doorway.  She was tall for a quel’dorei.  Certainly taller than the hunch-spined Forsaken behind her.  Even so, she could not compete with a nightborne.  The top of Sylvanas’s head barely came to Thalyssra’s lips.

“I wish to speak with you.”

That voice, haunted with unnatural echoes, carried only a hint of a question.  Sylvanas was not asking.

Thalyssra nodded politely.  “Of course.  Come in.”

Sylvanas entered, tattered cloak fluttering behind her.  Her dreadguards, clad in imposing black plate, followed her inside with a rattle of armor and bones.  No other sound, not even breath.  The guards watched Thalyssra warily, dead eyes staring out from decayed skulls.  Quite disconcerting to realize she was the only living person in the room.

With two elves and a dozen warriors, the chamber was rather crowded.

“Leave me,” Sylvanas ordered.

Quiet creaks came as the guards shifted reluctantly.

The squadron captain bowed humbly before asking, “With respect, my queen, the nightborne have not yet sworn loyalty to your Horde.  Is it safe to be alone with their leader?”

Sylvanas looked at him.  That was all.  No words.  Only a silent burning stare.

“...We’ll wait outside, my queen.”

The dreadguards scurried out.  The captain outright shouldered one through the doorway when the fellow did not move fast enough.  He snapped the door shut behind his men hastily.

Alone together now, Sylvanas returned her attention to Thalyssra.

“Well, then.  This is much better, is it not?”

Without waiting for a reply, Sylvanas moved further into the room.

Tension prickled the nape of Thalyssra's neck about being alone with her.  A walking corpse, and an infamously ruthless conqueror on top of that.  Their first meeting a little while ago in Grommash Hold had been slightly... contentious.  A second meeting in this more personal setting might set them on a better foot for negotiations.

“Your guest quarters are acceptable?”

“They are.  I thank you for the hospitality.”

A delicate dance for Thalyssra to maneuver.  She must act courteous, but not submissive.  Interested in the Horde, but not ready to commit yet.

Thalyssra carried out many diplomatic meetings alone with Elisande during her years as an advisor.  She could manage this.  Although, she did hope Sylvanas proved a better ruler than Elisande.

 _I hope I do, as well,_ came a surprising thought.

Besides, Sylvanas would be following that same dance.  The Warchief needed to remain on her most civil behavior if she wanted to sway Suramar to her side.

Thalyssra invited her to sit at the little wooden table in the middle of the chamber, atop the hide rug.  Each woman took a rattan stool facing the other.  Thalyssra pushed the plate of arcfruit she had been eating aside, where it would not interfere.  She wanted no distractions.

Sylvanas propped her bow against a table leg to leave her hands free.  The weapon seemed crafted of... vertebrae?  Unsettling.  The quiver on her back bristled full of arrows.  In her own capital she carried a weapon, as if prepared for battle even at home.  After the loss of the Undercity, it was understandable.

With the Warchief armored and weaponed up, Thalyssra should have felt vulnerable in comparison.  All she wore was her usual purple tabard and shenti, with her decorative hood down and white hair flowing loose.

Yet, Thalyssra felt as self-assured as ever.  She needed neither armor nor weapons.  Her arcshaper staff she left in Suramar.  It was only a conduit for her power, not the source of it.  A mage could never truly be “unarmed”.  All she need do was coalesce a thought in her mind, and the arcane would resonate through her body like the strum of harp strings and seize her opponents.

So she met Sylvanas's eyes steadily, moonlight-white staring into unholy burning red without wavering.

“What did you wish to speak about, Warchief?”

“About uniting your people with mine, of course, First Arcanist.”

“I have recently been informed it is ‘Grand Magistrix’ now.”  That came out a little wry.  It would take Thalyssra a while to get used to her new title.

Sylvanas nodded pensively.  “I see.  Perhaps congratulations are inappropriate, given the circumstances.  But regardless of title, know that you have my admiration for pushing the Legion back.  Anyone who shows such determination against a seemingly unbeatable foe would make a worthy ally of the Horde.”

Even when moving or talking there was a... stillness about Sylvanas that no living creature could imitate.

Seeing her up close was quite a change from their first meeting across Grommash Hold.  The sunshine streaming into the chamber through the balcony illuminated Sylvanas better than those shadowy throne room torches.  Thalyssra could make out tiny veins in Sylvanas’s gray skin.  The dead flesh was stippled with faint yellowing and purpling, and dark lips stood out in her pallid face.  A death-mask of a beauty.  Her features were ageless, same as Thalyssra and any live elf.  She could be thirty years old, or three hundred, or three thousand.

The kohl lining her eyes trailed like forgotten tears.  Was it cosmetics as Thalyssra first assumed, or something permanent?  Like a stain soaked into Sylvanas's soul that would not wash away.  As if so focused on vengeance for the wrongs done against her, she had not even taken time to wipe her tears and learn to cope with her grief.

Sylvanas was looking at Thalyssra with respect.  “I’ve heard much from champions of the Horde about your Dusk Lily rebellion.  How you worked together to usurp power and force the Legion out of your home.”

Thalyssra’s mouth tightened.  She did not approve of Sylvanas calling it “usurp”.  Elisande was the one who usurped power by abusing her leadership and allowing demons in.  Thalyssra and the rebels were only defending Suramar.

“I regret I was unable to participate in the rebellion myself,” Sylvanas went on.  “I was... occupied in Stormheim at the time.”

She scowled briefly, as if something happened there that still weighed on her mind.

“However, I sent Liadrin to Suramar with Horde troops and supplies to aid your efforts.  I heard of your bravery and tenacity in particular, Grand Magistrix.  It is no surprise you were chosen as Elisande’s successor.”

“My only desire is to lead my people better than she did.  These are trying times, but the shal'dorei shall endure.”

“Indeed.  Fate is ever forcing trials upon us all.  We Forsaken endured by joining the Horde.  Your nightborne can find such a home with us, as well.”

Thalyssra hid a small smile.  Now they came to the crux of the matter.  Pleasantries Sylvanas could manage for a little while, but she was a hunter with a quarry to catch.  Thalyssra intended to give her an arduous pursuit.  The Warchief could not be allowed to think Suramar would bow to her whims.  Sylvanas must earn their loyalty.

“Such is my purpose here in Orgrimmar, Warchief.  I would see the true heart of the Horde for myself.  And determine whether you or the Alliance can guarantee a better future for Suramar.”

“You might find the Horde outlandish.  As did I, when I was new among them,” Sylvanas admitted.  “But you and I are not so different.”

A bizarre suggestion.  Thalyssra’s eyebrows rose.  “Do elaborate.”

“Betrayed from within...  Our homes invaded by vile, unholy forces...  And a seemingly impossible fight to win to reclaim what is rightfully ours.”

The Scourge, Sylvanas must mean.  Thalyssra knew some of the story from Liadrin.  The two of them had been sitting together in a tent outside Suramar, surrounded by combined elven forces readying for the final assault on the Nighthold.  Sadness had ached within Thalyssra at hearing the horrific tale of what her friend survived, and she held Liadrin close in comfort.  Thalyssra understood the pain of watching your homeland defiled and your people massacred, as Sylvanas had connected.  Perhaps not so bizarre a suggestion as Thalyssra first thought.

“Yet we both persevered,” Sylvanas continued triumphantly.  “The Lich King is defeated, and so is the former Grand Magistrix.  You and I led our people to victory and took vengeance on those who wronged us.”

Firm as the rock walls of the chamber, Thalyssra said, “Justice was the goal of the nightborne rebellion, not vengeance.  If you cannot distinguish between the two, I cannot call you a good leader.”

A test.  If Sylvanas gave the wrong response, Thalyssra would end all contact with the Horde.  Thalyssra’s ears flattened to her skull in wariness.

Sylvanas waved a hand.  “Yes, yes.  Justice, freedom, choosing our own fate instead of a tyrant choosing for us.  All that wonderful poetry.”

Perhaps sarcasm, or perhaps honesty.  It was enough.  Sylvanas passed, for now.  Thalyssra relaxed the tension in her body and let out a tiny breath.

Sylvanas leaned forward eagerly, resting her gauntleted forearms on the table between them.

“Ride with us!  The Horde would make powerful friends.  Or powerful foes.”

Her eyes held a glint of warning.  Thalyssra could see fire in that red gaze.  The fire that burned Teldrassil without remorse.

“If you think to try making Suramar another Darnassus, Warchief, you will find us even fiercer than our kaldorei kin.  The Burning Legion itself, feared across the entire cosmos, could not break our will.  Neither can you.”

“Your home is not in danger from me.  I hold much respect for you and your people,” Sylvanas said to assuage Thalyssra’s defensiveness.  This discussion was to negotiate, not threaten.  “Yet the Battle for Azeroth rages on.  It is only a matter of time before your people are pulled into the fray.  The Horde can give you strength to face it.  Military allies to defend your lands, resources to help your city flourish, and other benefits to expand nightborne influence across Azeroth.”

“Benefit is never without price, Warchief.”

“True.  But we must all take whatever advantage we can find.  If you don’t, someone else will take it first and use it against you.  Whether it be Azerite or other forms of power.”

Thalyssra’s moonlight-white eyes narrowed.  “Is that what you desire above all else?  Power?”

“Power is the only thing that can protect those you care about.  Seize it, so you can wield it to bring safety and prosperity to your people.”

“I... cannot say you are incorrect there, Warchief.  But if you will heed my advice, have caution.  It is all too easy to lose sight of such a goal.  The quest for power becomes an end in and of itself, and the very people you wanted to protect are the ones who suffer most.  Elisande taught the nightborne this.”

“I will consider that, Grand Magistrix.”

Was she being genuine?  That dead, tear-blackened face was difficult to read in some ways.  Thalyssra had heard undead felt no emotion, but that could not be completely true.  Sylvanas did not seem wholly emotionless.  There was both fervor and bite in her words, and an eagerness to convince Thalyssra about the Horde.  And she certainly possessed a temper, Thalyssra had already witnessed.

“I don't doubt your strength, Grand Magistrix.  Nor that of your race.  But however strong, we can all use comrades.  You cannot defend Suramar from Alliance aggression alone.  Mark my words, they _will_ come for you someday.”

“Why should I side with you instead of them?  You speak so blithely of Alliance aggression, yet it was your atrocities that ignited the Battle for Azeroth.”

“I do what I must, that the Horde may survive.”

Resolute.  Unapologetic.

Thalyssra countered, “The people of the Alliance also wish to survive, yet they manage it without resorting to such savagery.  The Alliance is not without flaw, but it has far fewer stains to its flag.”

Bitterness added an edge to that ghostly voice.  “Oh yes, the Alliance loves boasting of its own righteousness.  Yet it was their prince who brought undeath to our gates.  I _died_ protecting the Alliance.  Now they curse my name.”

Betrayal soaked into the bitterness, harshening Sylvanas’s voice even further.

“Alliance hypocrisy abounds.  They condemn my Forsaken as abominations, then they allow cursed dogs and void-corrupted exiles into their ranks.  The Alliance is only as noble as is convenient for them.  Of course they would take your nightborne in, to help them wage this war.  And then they would curl their lip and turn aside when the time came you needed _their_ help.”

“I hear you, Warchief.  But I cannot believe it true.  It was a human who first found me when I was cast out of Suramar, blood from my friend’s blade trailing me into the wilderness as I hobbled away, hunted like a beast by my own kin.”

Thalyssra rubbed her abdomen absently, where a scar marred one of her runic tattoos.  The shal’dorei had depended on the arcane shield to protect their home, just as the arcane runes etched into their skin enhanced their power.  As the traitor’s dagger slashed through her tattoo, so too was their shield destroyed from within.  Even millennia of magical knowledge could not protect the nightborne from their internal struggles.  They defeated themselves before the Legion even got the opportunity to.

“That human did not curl his lip when he held my withering body in his arms to feed me mana crystals when the withdrawal left me too weak to even feed myself.  He did not turn aside when I asked him and other Alliance champions for help reclaiming Suramar.  Without Alliance blood and struggle on our behalf, the nightborne death toll would have been even more grim.  That is if we managed to drive the demons out at all.”

Thalyssra rose from her seat and went to the chamber’s balcony to look out.  The smooth stone beneath her bare feet was calming.

Sylvanas followed her outside.  Side by side on the balcony, they leant their arms on the railing.  This close, Thalyssra was thankful to discover Sylvanas did not smell like a corpse, unlike many Forsaken.  Her scent was pleasant enough.  Some kind of herbal oil.  A preservative, perhaps?

Together, they looked out at Orgrimmar spread beneath them from their vantage point carved into the canyon walls.  Even with battle raging across Azeroth, the Horde went about their daily lives, some taking respite from the heat in the shade or watering their animals, some trooping onward and wiping their brows.  Whether they carried weapons or farm tools on their shoulders, Thalyssra knew this war with the Alliance could claim any of their lives, or those they loved.

“I owe a great debt to the Alliance.  You must understand I am reluctant to spit on that debt.”

“Horde champions also helped you reclaim Suramar...” Sylvanas pointed out, quiet but insistent.

Sylvanas cast her eyes out among her people below as Thalyssra had.  People the Warchief swore to protect, and people she might have to order to their deaths in this war.

“...Our aid was equally essential as the Alliance’s.  You have two debts, but can only honor one.  Choose wisely, not just for your sake, but that of your entire race.  You have a choice I was never afforded.  I lived under the Alliance, I died under the Alliance, and in death I was rejected by the Alliance.  I had nowhere to turn but the Horde.”

Sylvanas gestured to the city beneath them on the balcony.

“Years among them, I’ve come to realize Horde is the greater faction anyway.  Now I would not return to the Alliance even if offered.”

Thalyssra shook her head.  “Suramar has a proud heritage.  We have a saying...  Quel’vala thonos.  Nobility through tradition.”

“The Horde will not stifle you,” Sylvanas reassured her.  “You can keep your traditions, as all our races do.  We value diversity.  Through our differences, we each find unique strengths.  The Horde adapts to match whatever challenges we encounter.  But Alliance see things the way they want to and expect the world to bend to their perception.”

Thalyssra turned from the view and walked back inside.  It was cooler inside the chamber than on the sun-soaked balcony.  Suramar had nothing like Durotar’s heat.

Sylvanas also returned, still pressing, “Don’t you want to join the winning side?”

“I want to join the _right_ side.”

Thalyssra eyed Sylvanas sharply to be sure she understood the distinction.

“Besides, the Battle for Azeroth is only beginning.  You cannot claim the winning side yet.”

“Perhaps with your Azerite tracking, Grand Magistrix, we will soon be able to.  Imagine an era of peace for all Azeroth, wrought by Horde and nightborne hands!”

“You do not want peace.  You want dominance.”

Sylvanas did not deny it.  She only replied, “Peace doesn’t bloom on its own.  It must be watered thoroughly.  With the blood of your enemies, if need be.”

“Or perhaps you will only drown yourself in such waters.  And drag Suramar down with you,” Thalyssra warned.  “Before I can consider pledging my people to your banner, I must learn more about the Horde...”

Thalyssra took a risk.

“...And about you, Warchief.  I will not swear loyalty to another Elisande.  Nor another Azshara.”

Thalyssra faced her unflinchingly.  Sylvanas pursed her lips, but held her temper at what many could have taken for a grave insult.  Thalyssra supposed that was a good sign.

“Some of my fellow nightborne lean Horde, some Alliance, some neither.  ...Some even think we should extinguish both Horde and Alliance, and rule Azeroth ourselves.”

Nightborne had an ingrained arrogance that played heavily into the Legion’s temptations of power.  A number of Elisande's minions willingly embraced demonic corruption and became felborne, believing the shal’dorei were destined by the stars themselves to be masters of this world.  Many of those felborne died with such cries on their lips, that the shal’dorei were chosen to rule.

Well, those vile traitors were dealt with, and now it was time to redeem Suramar to the world.  Thalyssra would ensure the nightborne took their rightful place in Azeroth, not above the other races, but among them.

“Rule the entire world?  Good luck!” Sylvanas said breezily.  "I’ve come to find ruling is harder than it seems.  If you devise a method, do let me know."

That was probably a jest, but it sounded out of place in her haunting voice, further jarred by that beautiful yet macabre face.

Sylvanas noticed Thalyssra staring at her.

"Forgive me, Warchief, I do not mean to be rude.  We shal'dorei have long been isolated.  We look forward to the new discoveries Azeroth and its inhabitants have to offer us, but some things will take a little time to grow accustomed to.”

Thankfully, Sylvanas did not seem affronted.

"Understandable.  Surely though, you have seen stranger things than undead in all your years?"

"Hmm..."  Thalyssra idly traced the runes on her forearm for a moment while she contemplated.  “A giant scorpion infused with the power of the Nightwell.  Some madman set it loose in the sewers to impede our raid on the Nighthold.  That must rank as the strangest thing I have ever seen."

Sylvanas's lips quirked in amusement.  "Durotar has scorpions aplenty.  But not the magic-infused kind.  Just be sure to shake out your blankets thoroughly before sleeping."

"Thank you for that image, Warchief.  You have ensured I shall not be getting a single moment of sleep my entire visit."

Sylvanas's amusement gave way to laughter.  A hollow, sepulchral sound, but not unpleasant.

Thalyssra laughed with her, arcane tattoos shimmering with enjoyment.  It was refreshing to see a lighthearted emotion from Sylvanas.  To learn she was even capable of such.

And it eased the tension a little.  If they did end up allies, it would be good to get along together.

Sylvanas noticed the arcfruit on the table Thalyssra had pushed aside earlier.

“Ah, did I disturb your meal when I called on you?”

She inquired about the strange blue fruit.  Thalyssra could have simply told her it was none of her business, but this emissary mission would be off to a surly start if Thalyssra blocked her out so soon.

 _I cannot expect the Horde to share its true self with me if I remained closed off_ , Thalyssra told herself.  Shal’dorei who wanted to venture out now that their shield was gone must also accept the trade of allowing others inside what used to be isolated.

So, she answered Sylvanas’s questions in good faith, explaining arcfruit and its significance to her race.

“The Nightwell is dead, but its addiction still haunts us.  We cannot create arcwine to slake our thirst anymore.  Only this...”  She gestured to the arcfruit.  “...the fruit of the Arcan’dor, can cleanse us, bringing our life essence back into balance with our magical powers.  Continued consumption will eventually break the Nightwell’s curse, but it takes time.  The hunger is not as debilitating as it was with the Nightwell.  Our arcane energies are slowly returning to equilibrium.”

Sylvanas took it all in attentively.  “One tree?  To sustain a city of thousands?  So narrow a stream to water so vast a field...”

“I swore to my people none would wither under our watch,” she assured Sylvanas.

Thalyssra would never let another shal’dorei soul endure the nightmare she nearly succumbed to.  The inexorable horror of feeling your own sanity slip away from you like water down a drain no matter how hard you clawed at the grate to keep hold of it.

“Suramar’s botanists are working on ways to increase the tree’s fruition.  Until then, we have enough leftover arcwine stockpiles to tide us over in substitute.”

“Oh?  I heard the city suffered a shortage of arcwine during your rebellion.”

Thalyssra shook her head in disgust.  “Elisande created a false shortage.  The vineyard produced the usual abundance of barrels, but she stockpiled them instead of distributing them to our people!  She dangled the threat of withering over all Suramar like an executioner’s axe ready to fall.  It was to cow everyone into submission, to keep them too afraid to side with my rebels.  Control by forced hunger.”

Sylvanas laughed low.  “Interesting.”

Oh dear.  Thalyssra did not mean to give her any ideas.

“In any event, one arcfruit can sate a nightborne for a long period without needing arcwine.  However, we arcanists and spellblades must consume more than our brethren, to balance all the magic our bodies cast.  The more powerful a caster, the more often they need arcfruit or arcwine.  Oculeth, our Chief Telemancer...”

She paused.  An outsider might not know what that title meant.  Thalyssra still took her shielded-off society for granted.

“...Ah, a very powerful mage in charge of our portals, he needs to feed once a week.”

“And you?” Sylvanas inquired.

Thalyssra smoothed her purple tabard in an attempt at modesty.

“Every day.”

Wispy blonde eyebrows lifted in surprised esteem.  Once Sylvanas gathered herself, she asked, “You brought enough arcfruit to meet your needs during this visit to Orgrimmar?  We cannot let you go hungry.”

Thalyssra nodded.  She packed plenty.  Never again did she want to experience the bone-aching, mind-crumbling withdrawal she and her friends suffered during the early days of the rebellion.

“In that case, may I try a bite?”

Sylvanas's ears, poking through her hood, were pricked curiously.

Thalyssra blinked, taken aback.  “I doubt arcfruit will affect someone never dependent on the Nightwell.”

“Indulge me.”

Thalyssra did not know whether that was a command, an invitation, or just a tease.

 _Indulging her may prove an idle errand, but...  How are you to build an alliance if you cannot even be friendly?_   Thalyssra prodded herself.   _Give her a chance._

“Well, arcfruit might not hold any special qualities for you, but I do not suppose it would harm you.”

Thalyssra pulled the plate of arcfruit across the table and began cutting off a piece for Sylvanas.

“I didn’t know you _could_ eat,” Thalyssra admitted.

She hoped that was not offensive.  Were you supposed to avoid talking about a person’s undeath, like some sort of embarrassing medical condition?  Thalyssra was morbidly curious about the whole thing, but perhaps it was rude to ask questions.  Maybe the dead did not want to be reminded of everything they lost.

“My body does not require food or drink.  But I am capable of eating if I choose.  Mainly just to participate a little, at ceremonial feasts and the like.  Even blood-hardened Horde warriors find having a corpse at table disturbing.  It soothes them if I make an effort at sharing such mundane activities with them as eating, even only a few bites.”

Earlier, Thalyssra was disconcerted over being the only live person in a room full of undead.  It had not occurred to her what it must feel like to be the only dead person in a room full of the living.  A startling shift of perspective Thalyssra never considered before.  But to Sylvanas, it was everyday reality.

“Nor do I require breath,” Sylvanas added.  Thalyssra had noticed her chest rarely stirred.  “I only breathe when I need to gather air to speak.”

“I... see.”

To distract herself, Thalyssra occupied herself with cutting the fruit.  They stood together next to the table, and Thalyssra held out a juicy segment of arcfruit in her palm for Sylvanas.

Thalyssra expected the Warchief to take the fruit in one of her gauntleted hands.  Sylvanas reached out... but did not take the fruit.  She gripped Thalyssra’s hand instead and brought it to her mouth.

Sylvanas took a bite of arcfruit from Thalyssra’s hand, not breaking eye contact with her.  Those red depths burned.

Thalyssra froze with shock, not moving her hand from Sylvanas’s mouth.  She was as firmly caught in that grip as if she stepped into the steel jaws of a hunter’s trap.

Thalyssra felt a flush spread down her face and neck, darkening her purple skin.

_I cannot wait to see the looks on Oculeth and Valtrois’s faces when I tell them I had the Warchief eating out of the palm of my hand._

Sylvanas was probably just trying to knock her off-balance again and rouse some sort of response.  All those little tests Thalyssra had been throwing out for Sylvanas, she should have known Sylvanas would want to test her, as well.

Well, if Sylvanas expected her to quail or repulse, the Warchief would get no such reactions!  Thalyssra maintained dignity and kept her face smooth, her back straight.  She would not give Sylvanas the satisfaction of thinking she could toy with her.

A trickle of juice ran onto Thalyssra’s fingertips.  Sylvanas gathered it up with a slow sweep of her tongue.

Thalyssra did her best to ignore the awkward heat rising beneath her own skin that was starting to blur her rationality.

 _She is a walking corpse!_ Thalyssra rebuked herself, regaining composure.   _Yet... intriguing._

Sylvanas swallowed the last of the fruit with a contemplative look.

“It has an interesting kick.  But you were right, I do not feel any magical effects.”  Sylvanas’s ears drooped in disappointment for a moment.  “Unfortunate.  I wanted to use arcfruit to empower the rest of the Horde, not just our nightborne comrades.”

“We are not your comrades quite yet, Warchief,” Thalyssra cautioned.  She returned her now-empty hand to her side as if nothing untoward just happened.

Sylvanas wiped the rest of the juice from her chin with a mysterious little smile.  She flicked her head to indicate the closed door and the dreadguards waiting beyond.

“I’m leaving a squadron of my dreadguards stationed outside your quarters.  They will accompany you for the duration of your visit.”

“Guards?  Am I your prisoner?”

“Not at all, Grand Magistrix.”  The answer was slightly too smooth to be believable.  “You may come and go throughout Orgrimmar as you please, as my honored guest.  The guards are for your protection.  Else some of the Horde might mistake you for a night elf spy.”

Hmph.  Protection or not, those dreadguards would be watching everything Thalyssra said and did.  And she could be sure every detail would find its way to Sylvanas.  Thalyssra did not doubt the loyalty of the Forsaken to their Dark Lady.

“Most of the city will be open to you,” Sylvanas continued.  “However, certain places are off limits.  Military intelligence centers and such.  As you reminded me, you have not declared for the Horde yet.  We cannot allow you to wander freely if there is still a chance you might join our enemies.”

If Thalyssra really _was_ a spy, Sylvanas meant but was too diplomatic to say.

“That possibility worries you more than you want to admit, does it not?” Thalyssra said.

Thalyssra stepped a little closer to the shorter woman, which casually forced Sylvanas to look up at her.

“Oh no, little hunter, you don’t like the idea of your prey slipping out of your grasp and into Alliance hands.  Not one bit.”

It was a deliberate barb.  Sylvanas parted her lips ever so slightly in response, baring fang-tips.  If this was intended as a warning display, Thalyssra was not impressed.  Elves of Quel’Thalas had such delicate little fangs, mere needles compared to the heavy, primal canines of night elves and their nightborne kin.  Thalyssra could crush Sylvanas’s entire throat in her teeth if she had a mind to.

“I am no fool, Grand Magistrix.  I know the Alliance must have approached you with offers to join them.”

“They have.”

Thalyssra did not elaborate.  Sharing details of what the Alliance already offered would only limit Thalyssra's bargaining power with the Horde.  Better to let Sylvanas worry the Alliance offered more than they actually did, which would incentivize Sylvanas to offer more herself.

Such shady tactics Thalyssra might have considered beneath her, but she must keep the future of her people in mind.  She was negotiating on the scale of all Suramar.  Missteps that might harm her people in the long run could not be allowed.  This emissary mission would require her to be as wily as a goblin.

“But you lean toward Horde, not Alliance,” Sylvanas persisted.  “Or you would not have come here.”

“Lean toward, but still need to be convinced.”

Sylvanas nodded as if accepting a challenge.  “I take my leave, then.  The other Horde leaders and I will discuss what we can grant you in return for the nightborne’s allegiance.”

Thalyssra agreed, expecting to spend at least a few days in Orgrimmar negotiating.  The fate of her race was not a matter to be rushed.

“Thank you for this, Warchief.  The opportunity to speak with you alone was... enlightening.”

“I aim to enlighten you much further in the coming days.”

Sylvanas readied to leave.  She gathered her bow from where she had propped it earlier, holding it in one hand.  However, she paused before leaving.  For the first time Thalyssra had seen, Sylvanas looked unsure of what she wanted to say.

“Many call me a monster.  Or worse.  But... inside this corpse standing in front of you is a woman just trying to do the best for her people.”

Thalyssra considered Sylvanas a long moment, looking into those smoldering eyes.  Whatever honesty they might have held in life was only ashes now.  It was impossible to tell if her words bore her true feelings or not.

“I hope, Warchief, that you see the same in me.”

“Then I shall do everything in my power to prove the Horde will be best for your people, Grand Magistrix.”

Sylvanas unfastened one gauntlet and pulled it off.  She extended her bare hand and forearm toward Thalyssra and waited expectantly.

Thalyssra accepted the gesture, reaching out and clasping forearms with Sylvanas in a show of peace.

They had touched hands when Thalyssra fed her the arcfruit.  Yet it was bare skin now, compared to Sylvanas's gauntlet before.  A peculiar sensation.  The flesh was cool, but not cold.  Thalyssra worried it would be disgustingly soft to the touch, like a core-rotten fruit ready to collapse at the slightest pressure.  But Sylvanas’s arm was as toned as Thalyssra’s, firm with lean muscle.

There.  Thalyssra had touched an undead, and it was not so bad as she feared.

In fact...

Touching Sylvanas exposed the spirit inhabiting that corpse to Thalyssra.  It was beyond the bounds of sensation for most people, but to a mage attuned to the very arcane essences of reality, Sylvanas rippled with unnatural power in an invisible seepage, like air shimmering off a hot ground.  If Thalyssra had to describe it, she would call that invisible energy a... flavor, almost.  Thalyssra felt akin to a snake tasting a breeze for a presence unseen.

Sylvanas’s energy differed from that of the other undead Thalyssra encountered.  More potent, but less definable.  Sylvanas was a unique case even among her own kind.

 _What exactly are you?_  Thalyssra wondered.

Sylvanas herself probably could not have answered Thalyssra’s question.  Undead did not consciously cast necromantic magic to keep themselves animate.  It was just part of them whether they wanted it or not.

Curiosity prickled along Thalyssra’s spine like whiskers nudging an unfamiliar discovery.  Mages were inquisitive by nature, always thirsting for new knowledge.  Necromancy was so different from the powers Thalyssra wielded.  Dark and unholy, whereas Thalyssra was used to the arcane’s glow and purity.

_I wonder what would happen if I..._

Thalyssra and Sylvanas’s hands stayed on each other’s forearms, not moving.  But with an unseen hand of magic, Thalyssra reached deeper, into the dead flesh, and touched that grievous seething eminence within Sylvanas.  Brushing her own arcane potency against Sylvanas’s dark aura as if dipping fingertips into a running creek.

Once when Thalyssra was a child, she was strolling Suramar’s shoreline when she came upon a fathom dweller that washed ashore.  She had never seen such a creature before, but when she poked the jellyfish curiously, trying to help it back into the water, it recoiled in the sand, snatching its tentacles inward in an instant and stinging her fingers sharply.

The reaction from Sylvanas’s spirit was terrifyingly similar.  That black energy rippled and recoiled, and Thalyssra felt Sylvanas’s aura quake beneath the arcane touch.  What Thalyssra intended to be a faint exploring brush Sylvanas would never notice, was instead a seizing clutch.  Thalyssra’s tattoos flared, etched runes coming alive, while inside Sylvanas the arcane sparked and flickered like a candle struggling to stay alight in the dark gale of her essence.

Sylvanas’s eyes snapped wide, her jaw slackening.  Her throat corded in a cry, though no sound made it out.  It was not pain, but a palpable astonishment that gripped her at the foreign magic sensation.

All in an instant, the sparking sensation flashed... and then was gone.

Thalyssra stumbled back, dropping her spellcast in shock, springing away from where she clasped Sylvanas’s forearm.  The magic-recoil ended as soon as their bodies broke contact, quivering back into place like a bowstring after shooting an arrow.  Thalyssra scrabbled backward, catching herself on the table.

Sylvanas staggered.  Her bone bow clattered to the stone floor, and she doubled over, hands on her knees to keep herself standing.  Had she needed air, she would have been gasping harder than a courier breathless from running miles.

Thalyssra’s ears were trembling.  Sylvanas’s were pricked defensively.

“I felt that,” Sylvanas whispered incredulously.  Her voice rose, chasing startled heights.  “You don’t understand.  I _felt_ that inside.  I do not usually feel anyth--”

Sylvanas stumbled over her words.  She straightened up, staring at Thalyssra.  She was no mage, had no way to define what just happened.  Even Thalyssra did not understand.

“What did you do?!” Sylvanas demanded.

Thalyssra insisted, near panic, “I do not know!”

Ten thousand years wielding magic, yet she had no idea what she just did.  She felt as shaken as that child stung by the fathom dweller she so foolishly poked.  Except now there was much more at stake than just sore fingers.

_Stars above, what have I done?  What does this mean for my emissary mission of peace?_

“I... I apologize, Warchief.  Sincerely.  I never intended to harm you.”

Thalyssra wanted to reach her hands out placatingly, but such would probably only alarm Sylvanas further.  So Thalyssra settled for trying to make her voice as soothing as possible, forcing down her own tremors of fright.  Now more than ever, Thalyssra must stay calm and try to salvage the situation.

Sylvanas glowered at her as if red eyes were trying to burn the truth out of her.  Eventually, Sylvanas controlled herself, convinced that whatever just happened was not some sort of attempted attack.

The Warchief flexed her bare hand where they had touched, staring at it.  Whatever happened was over.  The dead flesh looked the same as usual, no sign of whatever sensation so briefly sparked within.

“You did not harm me at all.  It was --”

Sylvanas cut herself off.  Scowling, she quickly strapped her gauntlet back on and snatched her bow up to leave in haste.

“Good day, Grand Magistrix.”

Sylvanas shut the door behind her like a cold wind rattling through, leaving Thalyssra trembling. 

 

* * *

 


	5. Orgrimmar Arc - Questions

 

* * *

“I remain unconvinced.”

Three days Thalyssra spent in Orgrimmar so far, yet her answer never changed.

The Horde leaders did not give up.  Hour after hour, day after day, they deliberated with Thalyssra on what they could offer in exchange for her people’s allegiance.  Negotiations took place in the Embassy, rather than Grommash Hold where she first met them.  Thalyssra pored over maps and military outpost plans the leaders laid across the table, sifted through pages of trade agreements they presented her with, and listened to their propositions until their voices ran hoarse.

Despite their dogged efforts at persuasion, Thalyssra was not yet swayed.  Open to the possibility, but not convinced the Horde was the right path for her nightborne.

Every few hours, the Horde leaders called for a break, both to renew their vigor and to attend other duties, including overseeing war campaigns.  In Thalyssra’s eyes, the more breaks, the better.  Let them take their time.

The Horde was a beast of conquest.  These leaders might not realize, but part of the reason Thalyssra refused to yield yet was her need to know if they were even capable of peaceful negotiation.  Suramar deserved better than to become merely another territory of a pack of warlords.  The Horde leaders aimed to prove their faction’s strength to her, but she wanted evidence of their restraint instead.

Thalyssra used negotiation breaks as an opportunity to explore Orgrimmar and learn about its inhabitants.  Diplomatic discussions with their leaders revealed much about the Horde, but Thalyssra also wanted to meet ordinary people.  The backbone of the Horde, not just the crowns.  To find out if her shal’dorei could belong among them.

So Thalyssra braved the heat to wander wide streets and narrow alleys, browse markets, weave among throngs, and dodge carts.  She rested in shady nooks where the lively, noisy energy of so new a city as Orgrimmar met the ancient susurrus of wind spirits that had hummed through these canyons for millennia.

Like many nightborne, Thalyssra went barefoot.  Orgrimmar’s dirt streets hardly compared to the pristine stone walkways of Suramar, but she managed.  Most trolls also went barefoot, while pandaren and tauren relied on their own paws and hooves.  The streets of Orgrimmar were used to a variety of walkers.

Even among this diverse populace, Thalyssra stood out.  Some met her during Suramar's rebellion, but most had never seen a nightborne and knew little about them.  As emissary, she was teaching Orgrimmar's inhabitants about her culture as much as they were teaching her about the Horde.

Most people were friendly once they realized this stranger was not a night elf enemy.  For all the Horde’s renowned ferocity, they were quite welcoming.  Eager to answer her questions and proud to show her everything their city offered.

Thalyssra entered every shop she came across, from armorers to scribes to jewelcrafters.  She bought a number of small trinkets and keepsakes.  Mainly as an excuse to talk with tradesfolk, but she did find a surprisingly well-crafted bead bracelet she thought Valtrois would like, and a kodo-leather belt pouch for Oculeth.

When Thalyssra’s feet grew weary, she rested awhile in inns, listening to stories beside the hearth and sharing drinks with innkeepers.  Horde wine was swill compared to Suramar’s vineyard.  But the clear liquor the orcs pressed from local Durotar cacti proved decent.

One night, Rokhan and his headhunters took Thalyssra frog-gigging in the sticky swamp of Orgrimmar’s side canyon.  The Darkspear made their home here among the reeds, dangling voodoo fetishes from their huts like chimes.  Valtrois would have fainted at the idea of catching frogs and getting knee-deep in muck, but Thalyssra had fun.  Nothing a little water spell could not clean up.

Thalyssra assumed the trolls hunted these frogs for ingredients in voodoo rituals, and thus was quite surprised when Rokhan presented her with one roasted on a stick.  It turned out unexpectedly tasty.

Rokhan remained wary of her, though he was gradually warming.  Thalyssra understood that even those suspicious of her meant no malice by it.  They only wanted to be certain she bore good intentions toward their faction.  Too many times had the races of the Horde been betrayed and exploited.

At Orgrimmar's beast pens a different day, Thalyssra got to view the Horde’s many exotic animals, from mounts to pack-bearers to hunting companions.  The animals were as diverse as the people of the Horde themselves.

“I have never seen wolves of this size!” she marveled.  “And tamed _spiders_?  Who knew such a thing existed?”

A troll woman saddling up a raptor paused to squint at Thalyssra.  “You been livin’ in a bubble, mon?”

“Well... yes.”

The wolfriders, rough-handed orcs as fierce as the beasts they rode into battle, were quite amiable.  They invited Thalyssra to see their direwolves up close, even teaching her some whistle commands and how to feed.  And they were kind enough not to laugh at her undignified yelp of fright when one over-eager wolf snatched the meat out of her hand with his jaws instead of waiting for her to toss it to him.

Down in Orgrimmar’s forges, thick-walled buildings where the air hung hot and dense and sooty, Thalyssra met Horde blacksmiths.  She fanned their bellows with magic for a few minutes so they could catch a break to wipe their sweat.  Durotar’s natural heat was nearly as harsh as the forges.

A pair of smiths, one orc and one tauren, hammered away together, forging an axe.  One of thousands to arm Horde warriors in this Battle for Azeroth.  The pair of smiths chatted with Thalyssra while they took a brief respite over a shared waterskin.  White scars stood out on the orc’s sooty skin, while the tauren bore chipped horns from countless battles.  The two men could not have been more different, yet they worked as a seamless pair, united by shared goals.  Remarkable to behold.  Despite their differences, the newer Horde races fit in as smoothly as the original orcs.

To someone from Suramar, a grand civilization but so insular and uniform, the revelation was startling.  All these races, from orcs and tauren to trolls and pandaren, came together in Orgrimmar.  People of all shapes, sizes, colors... yet Horde blood ran red within them all.  Perhaps Thalyssra’s nightborne truly would be welcome here.

From childhood, shal’dorei were warned that outside lies doom.  It was certainly dangerous for Thalyssra to be here in Orgrimmar, in the middle of a worldwide war, surrounded by outsiders she was not technically allied with...

But she was learning so much!  Excitement fast outpaced worry.  The more she fed her curiosity, the more it hungered.  If they did join this faction, Thalyssra knew her people would be eager to tour and trade with Horde cities.  Even the desert plants would intrigue Suramar's botanists.  Orgrimmar was a breath of fresh air.

Thalyssra inhaled deeply, then coughed.  The air was not quite so fresh in the goblin quarter.

What she intended to be a casual chat to meet some goblins turned into getting pulled into their gambling session.  So here she sat at their table in the garish goblin quarter, cards in her hand, cigar smoke and liquor all around.  The other gamblers jabbered away, equal parts encouragement and jeers, while sipping at drinks that inexplicably had tiny umbrellas.

Thalyssra’s knees were pressed to her chest, since she needed to practically fold her tall frame in half to fit a chair made for goblins.

“Perched with your legs all bent like that, you look like a toad on a toadstool!” one goblin taunted.

“Croak on this!”

Thalyssra triumphantly slammed down a winning hand of cards.  The man who taunted her gaped in shock, cigar falling out his mouth, and one woman at the table laughed so hard she fell off her seat.  The man’s friends ribbited at him in mockery.  He would never live this down.

On the next round, Thalyssra taught the goblins some card games from Suramar.  In return, they taught her how to toss dice, how to tell if your opponent’s dice were loaded... and which fellow sold the cheapest loaded dice on the sly.

Alongside chatting and being friendly with the Horde, Thalyssra asked them questions.  She asked vendors, soldiers, laborers.  Every trade, every class, every race.  She asked what the Horde meant to them and why they followed it.  Answers varied as greatly as the people.

Only once did Thalyssra risk a question about Teldrassil.

One goblin at the gambling table took a long swig of his drink.  “Bad stuff, that.  Burning civilians alive.”  He shuddered, either from the swig or the topic.  “I ain’t questioning the Warchief, of course,” he quickly added, glancing around nervously.  “It just... don’t sit well with me, that’s all.”  He trailed off and dropped his eyes back to his cards as if he regretted speaking.

The woman seated next to him snorted.  “Killing civilians?  Bah!  Alliance sank a whole ship of goblin civilians.  Just a harmless transport full of passengers, my family among them.  Self-righteous Alliance ‘honor’ won’t bring my kids back.  Alliance scum deserve whatever they get.  Burn ‘em all, I say.”

A few others at the table winced, unsettled.  But many did not, perhaps silently agreeing with the bereaved mother.

Thalyssra did not say it, but she knew the Horde killed civilians even before Teldrassil.  Humans who helped Thalyssra’s rebellion had told her of a city called Theramore.  But, arguments over “who did what” seemed not to placate either Horde or Alliance in this conflict, only deepen their mutual hatred.

Besides, Thalyssra did not want to end her encounter with these goblins on a grim note.  Perhaps something could cheer them up?

“My, my.  I seem to have accumulated a rather large sum of winnings.  I can think of only one way to spend it...”

The goblins blinked at Thalyssra.

“...Another round of coconut rum for the table!”

Her gift brought whistles of appreciation.  When she left the gambling table to continue her exploration, the goblins raised cups in farewell.

“We ain’t never seen a shal’do’whatever before today.  But if they are all like you, then they’s good people.”

Thalyssra dipped her head in polite goodbye and went on her way.  Though she could not help but wonder, would the goblins say the same about her if she ended up joining the Alliance?  Or would they shrug to see Suramar burn as they had Teldrassil?

Another afternoon, Thalyssra was exploring a swath of Orgrimmar called the Drag when she came across a most unexpected group of Horde.

A gaggle of children in the street peered up at her curiously.  They were various races, and all were sparsely clad and scuff-kneed, but healthy and well-fed.

“Hullo,” came a shy greeting from one pandaren cub.  Her round black ears twitched bashfully.

“Hello there,” Thalyssra replied, voice gentle.  She bent closer to their level, hands on her knees.

The children whispered among themselves, confused as to what exactly to make of a nightborne.

“You're too tall to be one of the elves!” blurted a little tauren.  Her horns were only tiny brown nubs.

Thalyssra chuckled.  True, most blood elves only reached Thalyssra’s shoulders.

“I am of a more ancient lineage than the elves you are used to seeing.  You should say they’re too short to be one of me!”

Her jest put the children at ease.  An orc boy stepped forward.

“I'm Bolk.  What's your name?”

“A pleasure to meet you and your friends, Bolk.  I am Thalyssra.”

“Thas...  Thalss...”  He struggled with the foreign name.

“Tall Thal!” one of the others piped up.

Bolk grinned, flashing half-developed orc tusks.  “That’s right, we’ll call you Tall Thal!”

Thalyssra’s eyes crinkled as she smiled warmly.  “You can play with me awhile, if your parents do not mind.”

“We don't have parents.  Matron Battlewail takes care of us.”

 _They are all orphans_ , Thalyssra realized, heart aching as she looked over the bright-eyed little faces staring up at her.

Orphaned by war, most likely.  Which war, she did not know.  It seemed there was always one raging.  Sadness weighed on her at the thought.  Thalyssra wanted nothing more than to bring peace to Azeroth.  To her, emerging from isolation into a world torn by war was appalling...  But to these children, it was the only world they knew.

Did Horde leaders truly believe the Battle for Azeroth would be the final war, that winning it would usher in an era of peace?  Was _this,_ this pack of hopeful little souls, why the Warchief was so ruthless in winning the war by any means necessary, to prevent more orphaned Horde?

_What about all the Alliance children orphaned by her?_

Thalyssra could not bring peace between the factions, but at least she could distract these orphans from sorrow for a while.

So, Thalyssra spent her afternoon playing with them up and down the dusty dirt Drag, letting small hands tug and guide her.  She even enchanted their toys so the children could keep some fun once she left.  A wooden axe for Bolk she made glow as if fresh from a forge.  A plain stick one girl insisted was a magic wand, Thalyssra made shoot sparkles.  And a stuffed elekk she enchanted to sing a few notes when hugged.  The children held Thalyssra’s hands warmly, tracing the runic designs along her forearms with inquisitive little fingers and giggling in amazement when the tattoos lit up silvery-white with arcane energy.

She let the orphans take turns sitting on her shoulders while she walked, so they could see the world from the height she did.  Someday, that little tauren girl would tower over her.

“You’re from far away, huh.  So why are you here in Orgrimmar, Tall Thal?” Bolk asked as he rode on her shoulders.

Thalyssra held the orc boy by his scuffed knees to keep him steady.

“I am trying to learn about your fellow Horde.  The adults, that is.  Sometimes it can be difficult to see eye-to-eye with people who are different.”

He tugged one of her long ears from his vantage point.  “Put them up here like you did for us.  Then you’ll see eye-to-eye!”

She laughed and lifted him down gently, setting him next to his companions.  “If only it were so easy.”

“I think you should join the Horde.  Bring your friends so they can take us on shoulder rides, too!”

“I shall share your input with my advisors,” she said, putting on her most serious face.

Bolk and the others scampered on, waving goodbye at Thalyssra.  She waved back, sweaty from their playtime, but her spirit lighter.

Once the children left, Thalyssra’s guards shuffled back to her side from where they had kept a respectful distance behind her and the orphans.

As Sylvanas ordered, a dozen dreadguards accompanied Thalyssra everywhere she went and stood sentry outside her chambers while she slept.  Her silent protectors, expressions ever grim inside their open-face helmets.

The dreadguards carried shields emblazoned with their queen’s sigil, a shattered mask over a raven’s silhouette.  The same crest adorned the gray-blue tabards draped proudly over their black armor.  Thalyssra had inquired if the crest had a name, and they replied it was known as the Icon of Torment.  Cheerful folk, the Forsaken were.

Thalyssra’s guards shadowed her closely while she walked the city.  Not interfering, just keeping watchful eyes on any who came near her.  Each guard wore a sword at his hip.  Sheathed, but bony hands rested on the hilts, ready to draw if the merest flicker of danger arose.  They took their protective duty seriously.  Not because they particularly cared about Thalyssra, but because the Dark Lady commanded it.

Thalyssra and her escort must look quite a sight on Orgrimmar’s streets.  Even live humans were small compared to nightborne.  Undead were smaller still, their human bodies drained and decay-thinned, their spines hunched.  Thalyssra must seem a mother duck trailed by her dozen skeletal ducklings.

They did not impede Thalyssra’s exploration.  They only pointed out areas forbidden to her.  The military intelligence centers, the Azerite forge... and the headquarters of something called the Royal Apothecary Society, which no one among the Horde seemed comfortable explaining to her what exactly it was.

Rarely did the dreadguards speak to her.  But they were not snubbing her.  She came to realize Forsaken simply had little patience for idle conversation.  They preferred people to speak quickly and be quick about their business.

Delicious smells tickled Thalyssra’s nose, inviting her to halt her wandering.  The source of the smells turned out to be a pandaren woman’s grilling cart on the side of the street.

Thalyssra tasted more new dishes in the last few days than in the last few millennia.  She had no idea the names of these unfamiliar foods she was looking at on this vendor’s cart.  But aside from one deeply embarrassing incident in the tauren area when she mistook their dishes for horse feed, all Thalyssra's experiences with Orgrimmar’s food were positive so far.  So, she followed her nose’s instinct and pointed at one of the dishes for sale.

The pandaren cook smiled brightly.  “Skewered peanut chicken, good choice.  How many you want, purple lady?”

“One for me, and hmm...”

Thalyssra did a headcount of the dreadguards.  By “headcount” she went around the group and lightly bopped each one on his helm, just to make sure they were still functioning when they harrumphed indignantly in response.  Silent and rigid as they were, she had pretty much no other way to tell if any of them truly did die at some point while accompanying her.

“...and a dozen chicken skewers for these fine warriors.”

“Thank you for the offer, Grand Magistrix,” said the squadron captain, a dour man by the name of Daunwell.  “But we must focus on our duties.  Food holds little interest to such as us.”

Another dreadguard spoke up jokingly,  “Kiss a gnome, Captain.  I like peanut chicken.”

This guard came across as younger than the others.  Honestly, Thalyssra found it difficult to tell age.  She could tell an adult from a child, but that was all.  After thousands of years surrounded by ageless elves, it took a while to learn how to distinguish age among mortal races.  The undead were even harder, considering their bodies were partially decomposed already.  Yet something about this dreadguard made him seem young.

Captain Daunwell stabbed a finger-bone in the boy’s direction.  “You, report for kodo manure cleanup tonight.”

“Yes, sir.”  He saluted, then dropped into a shrug.  “Not like I can smell it.”

That got raspy chuckles out of his comrades.  Thalyssra discovered that a group of undead laughing at once sounded like someone shaking a bucket of gravel.

Even Daunwell allowed a small smile on his thin, dry lips.  “Watch yourself, little brother, or it’ll be your tongue on that skewer instead of a chicken.”  His words carried no bite.  He was merely keeping up appearances as captain.

“You two are brothers?” Thalyssra asked.  “I did not notice a resemblance.”

“Ah, pardon, Grand Magistrix.  Merely a figure of speech among our kind.  All Forsaken are brothers and sisters.”

An unusual custom.  Thalyssra did not remember hearing it among the living humans she met in Suramar.  So why did...

_They have no other family.  They never will._

Thalyssra swallowed the lump of sadness in her throat and turned back to the food vendor.

“Just two chicken skewers then, if you please.”

Thalyssra paid the pandaren, who turned the coins over in her paws curiously.  Gold was gold no matter the kingdom, but most Horde never saw Suramari coins before.  A sharp crescent and stars marked one side of the coin.  The other side bore Elisande’s face.

Suramar needed new coins minted soon.  Certainly not bearing the image of the tyrant who betrayed her people to the Legion.  Would it be Thalyssra's face, as the new Grand Magistrix?  Disconcerting.  Perhaps Sylvanas's face instead?  If Suramar joined the Horde, the Warchief would technically be their ruler.  Even so, Thalyssra wanted to retain self-governance like the other Horde races.  The nightborne would follow Sylvanas, but not blindly.

Whether Sylvanas was a leader worth following was yet to be proven to Thalyssra, and an important part of why she carried out these chats with Orgrimmar’s inhabitants between formal negotiation sessions.  Satisfying curiosity was enjoyable, but as Grand Magistrix of Suramar, Thalyssra was gathering vital information for her people’s survival.  Thalyssra would never, _could_ never, let Sylvanas lead them where Elisande led them.

Thalyssra kept one chicken skewer and passed the other to the young dreadguard, who introduced himself as Trent.  He strapped his shield to his back so his hands would be free for eating.  The two of them ate as they walked on, the other dreadguards shadowing silently as always.

Thalyssra ate nothing the first day, save her required arcfruit.  For the sake of her escort, she pretended she was simply too excited taking in the sights of Orgrimmar to stop and eat.  She did not have the heart to tell them that half-rotted corpses shambling around her everywhere she went had soured her appetite.  But she was growing used to them.  Now she could eat alongside undead without feeling nauseous.

Horde races were diverse, but she quickly learned Forsaken were outliers even by Horde standards.  The process of being raised undead was... unpredictable.  Their bodies suffered varying states of decay, and senses faded differently among each Forsaken, like the young guard Trent who could no longer smell.  Minds also survived the transition with differing degrees.  Some Forsaken remembered little of their former lives, while others were cursed with the bitterness of memory.  Some even lost most emotion.

 _And their queen, how much does she feel?_   Thalyssra wondered.

She wondered the same thing many times in the last three days.  Ever since Sylvanas came to her guest quarters and...

Thalyssra still did not understand exactly what happened.  All she knew was she had escalated a simple handshake to foolish consequences.  Her ears quivered at the mere memory.  Thalyssra’s curious brush had spiraled into an invasive tremor, and within Sylvanas the two forces of arcane and necromancy clashed in a volatile flare, like sparks spat from an axe scraping a grindwheel.  Sylvanas’s seething dark aura rippled, howling voiceless against the arcane touch.  Thalyssra withdrew in panic, but it was too late.

That arcane spark made Sylvanas feel _something_ , but Thalyssra knew not what.  She hoped she had not hurt the Warchief somehow.  If she had, Thalyssra’s flayed hide would probably be bannered above Orgrimmar’s gate right now, diplomatic protection be damned.

It was hardly a topic Thalyssra could bring up during negotiations in front of the other Horde leaders.  She needed to get Sylvanas alone again if she wanted answers.  But... Thalyssra must admit, she was slightly nervous to be alone with Sylvanas again.

The Warchief did not visit her guest quarters again, either.  Perhaps Thalyssra was not the only one nervous.

Thalyssra carded through the tangled thoughts in her head like wool while she walked on and ate her skewered chicken.

She and her guards moved closer to the canyon wall for a moment to allow a blood elf merchant's wagon pulled by hawkstriders to pass through the narrow street.  The merchant nodded thanks, face half-shrouded from the canyon’s lengthening shadows of late afternoon.

Once the street was clear again, Thalyssra eyed the dreadguards.

“All of you have heard me speaking with the people of Orgrimmar these past few days.  Orcs, trolls, tauren, blood elves, goblins, pandaren...  You listened while I asked them why they swore allegiance to this faction.  What makes them _Horde._ Now I ask you.  Why do you follow the Horde?”

Captain Daunwell replied simply, “It’s the Dark Lady we follow.  Into the Horde or into hell, we march by her command.  That’s all there is to it.”

The other guards voiced agreement.  “Victory for Queen Sylvanas!  That is the only thing that matters.”

It suddenly occurred to Thalyssra she never heard Forsaken refer to Sylvanas as “Warchief”.  They did not care what her title was to the living.  To the dead and damned, she was their Dark Lady, their Banshee Queen, always and forever.  If all Forsaken were brothers and sisters as Daunwell said, then she was their mother.  Their matriarch absolute.

“Such devotion to a leader is rare,” Thalyssra said.  Devotion?  More like worship.

“She earned it,” Daunwell insisted.  “Like other victims of the Scourge, I was once a slave to the Lich King.  Not just in body, but in mind.  I... I heard his voice in my head, commanding me to commit _atrocities_ upon my own kin.  None of us could disobey him, no matter how hard we fought.  Eventually, the mind snaps beneath his grip.  Snaps so badly you stop even trying to fight.  Just a mindless abomination, only existing to kill and spread the curse of undeath to more victims...”

Dead eyes came alive with fervor.

“But the Dark Lady saved us!  Her willpower was strong enough to break free!  The Lich King’s hold over us loosened just enough, and she struck.  She was the first to reclaim her free will, then she helped others free themselves.  She rallied us, led us in driving out the remaining Scourge, and reclaimed our homeland that the Alliance had condemned as worthless plaguelands.”

Thalyssra chose her next words carefully.

“So...  She freed you, then demanded your service.  Reclaimed your homeland, then declared herself its new ruler.  Some might say you traded a Lich King for a Lich Queen.”

Affronted mutters rose among the guards.  Daunwell shook his head adamantly.

“It's not at all the same!  We had nothing left, _no one_ left, after the Scourge ravaged through.  I follow her loyally because she stood for me when nobody else would.  Even the surviving humans, once my countrymen, saw only a monster.  The Dark Lady saw a person, someone who still had worth, who could fight to avenge the wrongs done against us.  She promised us victory, and she delivered.  The Lich King is undone, his Scourge destroyed.  After his fall, she gave us new purpose in creating a future for ourselves.”

Another dreadguard who Thalyssra had never even heard speak before put in, “We are no longer forsaken.  Our queen will never forsake us.”

The others nodded enthusiastically and rumbled in agreement.

Thalyssra saw now.  Undead talked little except when given a chance to glorify Sylvanas.  Then it seemed they had plenty to say.

The young dreadguard, Trent, gulped down his peanut chicken while listening to his brothers talk.  Thankfully, his torso was intact enough that the food did not simply fall out his guts on its way down.

“I can’t speak for all that Scourge stuff,” Trent said.  “I was not raised into undeath until later.  The queen’s val’kyr raised me when the Horde needed more troops during the Cataclysm.  I’ve followed her since.”

“But... she ripped you out of the afterlife.”  Incredulity hollowed out Thalyssra's voice.  “Forced you back into a decaying corpse, cursed and bereft of living joys or comforts.”

Trent shrugged.  “Cursed I may be.  But our kind seeks opportunity even in the blackest circumstances.  Undeath is not as good as life, but neither is it so bad as true death.  I cannot smell, but I can see.  I cannot love, but I can laugh.  I can learn new things.  I can protect what's important to me.  None of that is possible from inside a coffin.  Someday, I will return to my grave, for good this time.  Until that day, I will serve the queen who gave me this opportunity.”

Thalyssra thanked the dreadguards for sharing their stories with her, then walked on in silence.

She had much to think about.

 

* * *

 

Sylvanas regretted the necessity to bathe.

Her corpse was far better preserved than most undead.  It would never decompose so long as her banshee spirit held a firm grip on it.  Sylvanas did not need to wash herself to stay clean, nor would she infect others.  Necromancy made pointless the act of bathing.  Tedious, a trapping of mortal frailty.

In the gloom of the Undercity, and with no need for sleep or meals, the days and nights blurred together.  Forsaken usually did not even mark when one day ended and the next began.  Just a constant dolorous existence without respite.  But now that Sylvanas resided in Orgrimmar, she must make an effort to appease the sensibilities of the rest of the Horde.

Thus Sylvanas currently being chest-deep in a bathtub in her private chambers late at night, alone with her handmaiden, tolerating her skin rubbed with herbal oils and her hair washed and combed.

The surface of the water gleamed orange with reflected light from boar-tallow candles.  Another concession to the living, how annoyingly bright they wanted everything.  Abundant sunlight was possibly the harshest adjustment for her Forsaken since relocating to Orgrimmar.

Even the shrouded Dark Lady must accommodate the rhythms of her living subjects.  Their daily wax and wane.  The living were so fond of paring their existences into days, hours, minutes.  They looked forward to the next meal or to bedding down for the night...  As if any of it mattered.  As if oblivion did not blink past each day and night unchanging, uncaring. 

The curse of undeath robbed such joys from those whose souls were forced to linger in this world by the dark arts of necromancy.  Arts which still unsettled Sylvanas’s allies, despite the power undead provided the Horde.

She scowled at the thought.  The living were so fickle!  Members of the Horde respected Sylvanas as their commander, willingly razed cities at her command, yet trembled at being near her.  Sylvanas led them, but would never belong among them.  Only her Forsaken understood her.  But they saw a savior to worship, not a person to befriend.

Sylvanas cupped bathwater in her hands and splashed her face.  The black tear stains, permanent reminders of her sorrow, stayed seared into her skin no matter how hard she washed.

“We don’t die, but neither can we heal,” Sylvanas murmured to herself.  “Without a sense of the passage of time, just constantly existing in the Now... undead can never move on.”

After all these years, rage and grief still chewed at her soul as viciously as the day she was slain.  But Sylvanas devoured her hatred like the living devoured food, letting it fill and sustain her.  If she could not soothe her pain, then she would turn pain into something useful.  A force to drive her.  She must focus all that energy toward the future instead of the past.  Toward ensuring the survival of her Forsaken and the rest of her Horde.

Sylvanas was quite vain when alive.  She would have luxuriated in a bath like this and a servant to pamper her.  There were fewer pleasures now.  She rarely ate, and when she did most foods tasted barren.  Her sense of smell was also quite dull, but perhaps that was a mercy given she surrounded herself with decomposing corpses.  Yet her reflexes stayed sharp, and her eyes as keen as ever.  Sylvanas took pride that in death as in life, none could rival her skill with a bow.

Idly, she trailed fingertips in the cold bathwater.  Warm water was another sensation she long ago stopped caring about.

One particular sensation occupied much of her thoughts.  Not an old sensation, a new one.

Her gaze dropped to her hand.  The dead gray flesh glistened from the water, but otherwise looked the same as usual.  Many times in the past three days, Sylvanas caught herself glancing at her hand, flexing it experimentally.  But there was never any sign of what had happened.  Only memory for proof it happened at all.

A simple clasp of forearms in a gesture of peace, yet what resulted had jolted Sylvanas to the core, both in body and in her banshee spirit tied to that body.  An intense sensation never felt before, even in life.  Invasive and stimulating at once, like silk rubbing the inside of her skull.  Confounding, frightening... and intriguing.

Her first defensive instinct was that this magic-sparked reaction must be an attack.  But it had not hurt, and Sylvanas felt no lasting effects in the time since.  She would have been able to sense if some sort of enchantment was placed on her by Thalyssra.

Thalyssra.  The knot disrupting the normally smooth weavings of Sylvanas’s mind.

Sylvanas told no one of what occurred between the two of them.  Not her Forsaken, not the other race leaders, not even Nathanos, the closest thing she had to a friend.

The only beings to whom Sylvanas confessed what happened were her val’kyr.  Unfortunately, her ghostly angels had been equally as mystified.  The only answers to Sylvanas’s question were the unearthly flap of spectral wings and the blank gaze of eyeless masks.  Her val’kyr knew the limits of her banshee-possessed corpse better than anyone, but even these beings bound to Sylvanas by soul-pact had no idea what to make of the sensation she described.

She could simply demand an answer from Thalyssra directly.  If Sylvanas could figure out a way to do so that would not make herself appear weak.

Besides, Thalyssra might not even know.  Judging by the shock straining Thalyssra’s face as soon as their bodies broke contact, she was as caught off guard by the piercing reaction as Sylvanas.

Thalyssra’s fright seemed to have dissipated like mist in sunlight, for in the three days since then, Sylvanas had never seen the Grand Magistrix display anything other than self-assured serenity.

Thalyssra held firm in negotiations, not swayed to the Horde yet.  Even alone in the heart of foreign territory, even at the table in the Embassy surrounded by leaders of the famed and ferocious Horde, Thalyssra stood straight and did not yield.

Sylvanas must admit, she respected the Dusk Lily’s courage.  Not a loud roaring courage like a warrior on a battlefield.  A calm, wise courage.  Like a queen upon a throne.  Weathering the Horde’s persistence with dignity, as a mountain weathered gale winds.

Sylvanas found it both frustrating and admirable.  Frustrating that Sylvanas could not yet secure the nightborne as allies, but admirable that Thalyssra remained unyielding.  Such strength would make her a worthy ally.  Besides, hard-won loyalty was more desirable in the long run.

“Easy come, easy go,” Sylvanas reminded herself.  “If the Grand Magistrix is swayed too easily into the Horde, it could warn she might be easily swayed _away_   from the Horde someday by the Alliance.”

Sylvanas could never allow that.  Nightborne power in the hands of the Alliance would shatter any hopes of the Horde winning this war.  It troubled Sylvanas, not knowing whether she was any closer to convincing Thalyssra to join, even days into negotiations.

Thalyssra’s presence itself was another worry.  Was Sylvanas letting a lynx into a hawkstrider coop by allowing Thalyssra to wander Orgrimmar freely?  The people of Orgrimmar belonged to Sylvanas to rule, but more importantly to protect.  The Grand Magistrix was powerful, and power was always dangerous.

Yet, power was always worth pursuit.  Sylvanas needed to win the allegiance of Suramar, which she could not do by falling on their leader’s bad side.  Sylvanas could not simply imprison Thalyssra in the guest quarters.  If anyone in Orgrimmar was even capable of imprisoning so potent a mage.  Well, sometimes danger must be risked for reward.  The Battle for Azeroth called for desperate measures.  Sylvanas only hoped she was not putting her Horde in harm’s way by letting Thalyssra roam among them.

Sylvanas received reports from her dreadguards of the Grand Magistrix’s activities.  Where she went, what she did, and who she spoke to.  Nothing suspicious yet.  By all accounts, Thalyssra was genuinely attempting to feel out the Horde as possible allies.

Sylvanas gave strict orders Thalyssra not be permitted anywhere near the apothecary headquarters.  The building other Horde races sarcastically called the Ossuary, due to only undead being allowed inside.  Sylvanas kept secrets even from fellow Horde.  Some things, the living just did not need to know.

Her dreadguards were not the only ones Sylvanas spoke to about Thalyssra.

_“Liadrin, you know the Dusk Lily better than anyone else in the Horde.  Tell me, how can I sway her to my... to our side?”_

_Sylvanas sat at a desk strewn with missives and war reports, in her work study within her private chambers._

_Liadrin stood at attention in front of the desk.  The paladin gave her input and corroborated the dreadguards’ reports of how Thalyssra wandered around talking with people.  Also some nonsense about playing with orphans?_

_A warm smile lit Liadrin's face at the mere thought of Thalyssra._

_“She’s kind.”_

_“Kind?” Sylvanas repeated as if she forgot the meaning of the word.  After years of undeath, perhaps she had._

_Sylvanas leaned back in her chair and tapped a feather quill against her lips._

_“Random chatty citizens and a pack of orphans... having more success recruiting the Dusk Lily than me and the other leaders spending hours at the negotiation table with her?  That is either hilarious or infuriating, I cannot decide.”_

_Still, if such unexpected encounters helped Sylvanas capture her prize, she did not care the method._

_Sylvanas went on, “Her playing with orphans could prove useful.  The living are vulnerable to sentiment.  Endearing the Grand Magistrix to the Horde might yield an advantage in negotia--”_

_“For Light’s sake, Warchief!” Liadrin burst out, auburn brows pinched in a scowl.  “Do you only see ‘advantage’ even in a simple act of compassion?  I know your heart does not beat, but I did not know it was completely nonexistent.”_

_Sylvanas’s ears pulled back aggressively.  Her fist clenched, nearly snapping the feather quill.  Hot temper was always a problem for Sylvanas, even before her death.  Controlled though she usually kept herself, sometimes fury rose to the surface like pus from a cracked scab._

_She reined in her anger tightly.  How Alleria taught her when they were young, a mental trick to keep temper cool and judgment clear.  “Imagine dipping a ladle into a pot of cold water and pouring it over a campfire,” Alleria had told Sylvanas.  “At first, the fire will hiss and spit in rage.  But keep pouring ladleful after ladleful until it calms.”_

_Sylvanas found thinking of Alleria only made her more upset now, with their relationship as it currently was.  Sylvanas’s earliest childhood memories were of sneaking into Alleria’s bed after a nightmare, of how her big sister’s warm embrace under the covers always offered comfort and lulled Sylvanas back to sleep.  Yet her most recent memory of Alleria was of trying to kill each other in Lordaeron’s throne room.  Alleria had no more warm embraces for Sylvanas, no more offered comfort to soothe the stark fear of loneliness.  Sylvanas would never admit it, but she needed it now far more than she had as a child._

_Such was how the world worked.  Every action exacted a price.  When you rose from your grave, you had to bury something else to fill the empty space.  A sacrifice to appease the violation of nature’s laws.  For most Forsaken, that meant burying any love they once knew, whether they wanted to or not._

_Sylvanas pushed Alleria from her mind, rather than confront the emotions that thorned her throat like trying to swallow briars.  Death was supposed to grant release from mortal bonds.  So why did it still hurt?_

_She managed to keep her temper with Liadrin.  Fortunate for Liadrin that Sylvanas valued her as an advisor, else the paladin would have been flogged for insubordination._

_“Your report is noted, Liadrin,” she said coldly.  “That will be all.”_

_A curt dismissal.   Liadrin saluted, displeased but obedient, and left._

Sylvanas pulled herself from reminiscing, back to her bath.

“She’s kind...”  Sylvanas repeated Liadrin’s words in a mutter.

Broody, Sylvanas sank deeper into the water.  Until only her eyes were above the surface, like a lurking crocolisk.

You could not run a kingdom on kindness.  You could not win a war on kindness.

Still, Thalyssra was no soft-heart.  She won her rebellion through blood and determination.  Stood toe-to-toe against demons and fel traitors, never backing down.  Kindness did not make her weak.

Sylvanas pushed away broody thoughts and sat up so her handmaiden, Fiya, could wash her back.

Fiya was once a plump, dark-haired farmgirl.  Probably thought of nothing beyond the borders of her family’s fields.  Until the Scourge swept through her village like a swarm of locusts through a crop.  Now Fiya was drained and brittle, gruesome from decomposition.  Flickering light from the candles only worsened the dark hollows of her face.

As ruler, Sylvanas could have kept a retinue of beautiful ladies-in-waiting from the noblest elven families to pamper her every need.  In life, that idea would have fed her arrogance and her arousal in equal measure.  But now, she was content with one simple farmgirl tending to her.  As for arousal...  Fiya was unsuitable, but Sylvanas did use other Forsaken to scratch certain itches once in a while.  They were more than happy to oblige their queen.

Fiya’s bony fingers made an excellent comb, working through Sylvanas’s faded blonde hair.  Withered hands scrubbed a sponge along Sylvanas’s shoulders as diligently as any live servant.  More so, probably.  A live servant would quail at the thought of washing a corpse.

“Tell me your assessment of the situation, Fiya.  Am I making progress convincing the Grand Magistrix to join the Horde?  Or will I lose her to the Alliance?”

“Mrrgh ugellag rmm,” Fiya replied.

“My thoughts exactly.”

Fiya, like several Forsaken, had been raised into undeath without the benefit of a jaw.  The entire lower half of her skull was missing, leaving her tongue dangling onto her neck like a pendant.  Her best attempt at speech consisted of gurgling noises little better than a murloc.

Even if apothecaries stitched a new jaw on, they would never be able to fix the upper half of Fiya’s head.  Her brain was far too decayed, only capable of simple tasks like washing her queen and polishing armor.  Nor could she read or write to communicate.  Sylvanas tried teaching her, but it proved a futile effort.  Fiya’s mind was simply too feeble to grasp such a complex new skill.  She was barely able to muster the strength of will to break free from the Scourge, even with Sylvanas's guidance.

Trust was a resource even more valuable than Azerite.  And Sylvanas guarded it even more closely.  A simple-minded handmaiden who could not blab Sylvanas's secrets and who never bored her with chatter suited her.  They understood each other as much as they needed to.

For all Sylvanas knew, Fiya was an intelligent girl in life.  But being raised into undeath took a harsher toll on some.  The Scourge only wanted mindless troops to spread the plague to more victims.  The undead’s existence was meant to be temporary, to weaken Azeroth for the Legion’s invasion.  Then the undead would outrun their usefulness and be cast aside.

Well, Sylvanas had defied those vile masterminds.  She and the other undead were not just mindless tools to be used and discarded.  They were their own people!  Forsaken by their former kin, but carving a new path for themselves.  Not as Scourge, not as humans or elves, but as something new.  Something more.  Something the living were too afraid to comprehend.  If no place in this world offered them a home, they would _claim_ one by will alone.  They were Forsaken, and they would slaughter any who stood in their way.

Sylvanas traced the long scar on her torso.  After all these years, it was still icy to the touch.

_He thought he defeated me.  Fool._

In death, Sylvanas became more powerful than he could have imagined.  Slowly and patiently, clawing power inch by inch.  Plans set in motion long ago, secrets she did not confide even in Fiya or her val’kyr.  Webs spun in the darkest of shadows, as ghastly as Deathknell’s black spiders skittering inside their abandoned mine.

“A butterfly thinks itself grand and lovely.  Yet its wings stick to a spiderweb as easily as a common fly’s do.”

Fiya gurgled in agreement, though it was unlikely she understood to whom Sylvanas referred.

“With a little patience and a little cunning, my Grand Butterfly will flutter right into my grasp.”

Sylvanas closed her eyes, leaned back in the bath, and let Fiya wash her.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit of a “breather” chapter. Don’t worry, the minor OCs in this chapter are just one-shots and won’t be taking screen time away from our main pairing. The two of them needed to spend a little time apart, but next chapter pushes the Dusk Lily and the Dark Lady into confrontation once more.


	6. Orgrimmar Arc - Stargazing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: slight nsfw in this chapter.

 

 

* * *

 

Moonlight poured softly down Orgrimmar's canyon walls, filling the stone basin like a cup brimful of silver glow.  Thalyssra's guest quarters among the dwellings carved high into the rock walls granted her a magnificent view of the canyon.  Even this stark land found a gentle beauty at night.

The city spread beneath her balcony lay quiet.  Streets which bustled under the sun stood silent beneath the two moons.  Heat ebbed somewhat once the sun set, but nights here stayed warm.  Thalyssra's usual light garments were enough to keep any chill away.  Being nocturnal like all shal'dorei, she was well accustomed to the feel of night air on her skin.

Thalyssra was the only shal'dorei in Orgrimmar, but she was not the only person awake tonight.  From her balcony, she looked over her shoulder, back into her quarters and the door to the corridor beyond.  She knew who awaited on the other side.

A dozen dreadguards were ordered by their queen to watch Thalyssra, so watch they did.  Day and night.  They stood sentry outside Thalyssra's closed door as rigid and silent as the stone walls.  Should she set a single foot outside her chambers, the guards would follow.  They accompanied Thalyssra everywhere, from negotiating with Horde leaders to exploring the city to speak with Horde common folk.

These dreadguards were charged with protecting her in case any Horde mistakenly tried to harm her.  The guards were too discreet to say it, but Thalyssra knew they were also under orders to make sure _she_ did not harm any Horde.  She bore no such intentions, but this was wartime and Suramar had not yet chosen a side.  She could not fault the Horde for their caution.

The dreadguards kept watch on her door...

...but not her balcony.

“After all, how could I slip out this way?” Thalyssra murmured wryly to herself.  She leaned over the balcony railing to gauge how far it was to the ground.  “The Grand Magistrix of Suramar is far too dignified to goat-hop down a wall of rocks.”

Yet she climbed over her balcony and did just that.

When Thalyssra and Valtrois were young, they often went diving together off the ramparts of the Nighthold into the waters below.  This was much easier.

Thalyssra jump-prowled the rest of the way down the steep wall in the darkness, slowly working her way from each rocky outcropping to the next.  One careful leap and catch at a time.  Even smoothed by eons of wind, the rocks remained a rough grip for Thalyssra's bare palms and soles.

It took time and a few precarious slips, but she made it to street level with minimal scrapes.  Feet now on flat ground, she dusted off her hands proudly.  When she glanced at her balcony far above, no skeletal faces stared worriedly back down at her, so the dreadguards must still be at their post outside her door, none the wiser.

Though Thalyssra was growing used to her undead escort, after four days constantly shadowed by them she wanted some privacy for a few hours.  With luck, she would be back in her chambers before they even noticed her gone.

She meant no malice by her subterfuge.  Tonight's plan was simply to go stargazing.  Thalyssra's people spent so many centuries trapped beneath their arcane shield, unable to drink of the moonlight and starlight which night elves so deeply love.  The Nightwell was a poor, artificial substitute for the natural light of the heavens.  The deprivation transformed Thalyssra and her people into nightborne, no longer truly night elves.  But they loved the night sky no less.  She could not bear the idea of wasting another evening inside stone walls instead of going out to bask in the starlight.

A stomping approach of massive feet in plate boots interrupted her thoughts.  Even at this hour, a few orc grunts patrolled Orgrimmar.  Thalyssra had dropped right into one's path, with no chance to get out of view before he rounded the street corner.  No time to escape, but for an experienced mage, time enough to cast one quick spell.

The orc held up his torch, looked straight at Thalyssra, and...

His eyes slid over her.  Only rocks and dirt met his gaze, orange in the torch's blaze.  He snorted and resumed his patrol, walking right past Thalyssra by mere yards.

Once the pool of light cast by his torch disappeared around the next bend, Thalyssra sighed in relief.

Oculeth was the best at warping space, but she could manage it in a pinch.  Thalyssra's spell warped the space surrounding her body, sheathing her as snug as the peel of a fruit.  She could see out through it, but none could see her.  Light and air slid around her body and moved onward without interruption, like water flowing around an island.  The spell itself was not dangerous, but foolhardy young mages had died from forgetting to leave a gap to breathe through.

Her illusion would not hold up under scrutiny, but it was enough for Thalyssra to slip through the night and evade most eyes.  Only the most watchful would notice something's not quite right.

Gazing upward from street level offered Thalyssra only a narrow slice of the sky, cinched between the towering canyon walls.

“I need to find a way to the plateau atop those walls if I want to properly stargaze,” she decided aloud.  “It would help if I knew which path led there...”

Despite hours exploring Orgrimmar the past few days, she still got lost easily.  She forged ahead regardless, certain she would find a way eventually.

Most of Thalyssra's walk was spent in darkness, only an occasional brazier spaced along these dirt streets.  Life in a barren land taught the Horde to be careful with its resources.  There was no point wasting wood to make light while everyone slept.  But shal'dorei had excellent night vision, just as their kaldorei kin.  Moonlight alone was enough to illuminate Thalyssra's path.  Were it not for the warp-concealment spell she maintained in case of more patrols, a tilt of her head would have caught the celestial light reflected in her silvery-white eyes.  Shal'dorei were well-named as Children of the Night.

Thalyssra's stealthy trek brought her to a large, spiky-roofed building at the center of the main canyon.  She recognized it as Grommash Hold, the throne room where she first met the Warchief and other Horde leaders.  In the four days since, Thalyssra had not returned to the Hold.  Negotiations took place in the Embassy.

“All my chats with the people of Orgrimmar, I keep forgetting to ask what a Grommash is.”

There appeared to be some sort of rope bridge hanging behind Grommash Hold...  Would that lead to her goal of getting above the canyon walls?  So confusing.

In Suramar, telemancy pads easily moved you up or down a level.  The Horde was so primitive.  And yet, creative!  Just as they made do with the little wood or farmland they had, they made do with the little knowledge they had.  Other nightborne might turn up their noses at these races, but Thalyssra admired the Horde's tenacity.  Survival required a strong spirit even more than it required a strong body.  Thalyssra learned that lesson in the cave of Shal'Aran during her rebellion, but the Horde learned it long before her, in deserts and internment camps.

Though she was discovering much to respect about the Horde during her visit here, Thalyssra did not respect their city design.  Really, a posted map or two would have been helpful!  She idly rubbed her hands together, considering.  That rope bridge behind Grommash Hold seemed her best chance for reaching the plateau atop the canyon.  Surely she could find a good stargazing spot up there.  Perhaps some staircase inside the Hold would guide her up to that bridge?

When Thalyssra first met the Horde leaders, she was escorted through the front entrance of the Hold, but a little poking around in the moonlight revealed a smaller side door.  She ducked inside and shut the door behind her silently.  As she walked through the antechamber into the throne room, her eyes darted for anything that looked like stairs.

The interior of Grommash Hold was as she remembered it.  The stitched hide map of Azeroth covering the floor, the racked weaponry boasting the Horde emblem, the torches burning in wall brackets.

That really should have been her first warning.  Torches alight meant people awake.

Thalyssra froze mid-step, still hidden by her warp-shroud.  Someone was already here.  Two someones.

Sylvanas lounged on the throne with one knee slung over an armrest.  She wore her usual boots and gauntlets and hooded cloak.  And nothing else.  In the amber torchlight, dead gray flesh stood out stark against the tan hides covering the throne, while her smooth skin contrasted the rough orcish spikes.  Bare chest down to bare abdomen down to bare...

Thalyssra let slip a soft gasp.  From the room's side entrance, Thalyssra was too far for the noise to reach the Warchief.  Nor the woman in the black uniform kneeling before the throne.

Thalyssra had learned these black-robed undead were known as apothecaries, but all Horde members evaded her questions about what they actually did.  She gathered only that they were alchemists of some kind, under the Dark Lady's personal patronage.

Apparently, they enjoyed more than just her patronage.

Unaware of Thalyssra's invisible intrusion, Sylvanas casually raked fingers through the hair of the head currently at work between her bare thighs.  One elbow rested on the arm of the throne, her chin propped on her palm, almost bored.

The apothecary pulled her head away to gaze up at Sylvanas adoringly.

“Does that please you, my queen?”

Sylvanas made only a low drawl in reply.  Approving, but not impressed.

Sylvanas toyed idly with the apothecary's hair, then stroked a fingertip down the woman's jaw and tilted up her wet chin.  Stitches marred that face where substitute skin from another corpse had been patched on to cover any rot-born gaps.  The ridges of the apothecary's spine punctured her robe like an exposed seam down her back.

The apothecary's mouth opened to speak again.  Sylvanas cut off words by parting her subject's lips with a claw of her gauntlet.  She tugged on the apothecary's tongue with lazy authority.  When the woman whimpered wantonly, Sylvanas returned her gauntleted hand to the apothecary's hair, knotting fingers into brittle tresses and guiding the woman's head back between her thighs.  The apothecary resumed the task with even greater enthusiasm than before.

Thalyssra stood frozen inside her concealment spell like a fly caught in sap, unable to tear her eyes from Sylvanas and the kneeling woman, whoever she was.  Did Sylvanas even know this person, or did she simply snag a random Forsaken to do her bidding tonight?

The apothecary sounded eager to submit.  Anything for their queen, their dark savior who delivered them to freedom from Scourge enslavement.

Thalyssra fled.  Neither of the undead noticed her.

She ran out of Grommash Hold, back into Orgrimmar's dark streets, scarce even knowing where she was going.  Her heartbeat galloped and her breath came heavy from more than just running.  Embarrassment, necrotic disgust, and something Thalyssra refused to consider might be arousal, all churned together inside her head like a vintner's mixing barrel polluted by poison and stomped into a vile mess.

She wanted to get far, far away.  From what she just saw and from her own memories.  Memories of...

“Malrodi...”

Thalyssra whispered the name.  A fellow nightborne arcanist.   _Former_ fellow.

Many months had passed since Thalyssra last held the other woman in her arms.  The heart-wound of their parting should have scarred over by now, yet it remained as raw as when inflicted.  Perhaps because Thalyssra had been too focused during the Dusk Lily rebellion to dwell on memories of Malrodi and come to terms.

Tonight thrust it to the forefront, and now Thalyssra could push away these thoughts no longer.  Thoughts of their time together and how it ended.  How Malrodi... how she...

Thalyssra bit her own knuckles to trap a cry from escaping her lips.  She could not tell which cut deeper right now, her grief or her longing.  She took a deep, shuddering breath and calmed her pace back to a walk.

“I came out to stargaze.  That has not changed.”

Thalyssra made her voice firm to regain hold of herself.  Now more than ever, she needed something as familiar as stargazing to soothe her.

Her clumsy exploration eventually brought her to a strange pulley-platform.  An elevating mechanism, she discovered.  It creaked, hauling itself upward, and she jumped on just in time to ride it up.

The elevator levered its way to the top of the canyon rim.  Thalyssra stepped off onto the flat rock, and the mechanism began a slow descent back to ground level.  She examined the gears curiously.  A clever system of weights and pulleys kept it in constant motion for any passengers to use.  This “primitive” Horde was full of surprises.

Now that she finally reached her goal of getting atop the canyon, she looked around.  The two moons lit this plateau well, but not much was up here.  Just some animal pens and a pair of wooden towers.  One tower had a zeppelin docked at its peak.  The zeppelin rested empty, its crew asleep down in the city before tomorrow's journeys began.

The other tower stood vacant.  Thalyssra made her way to that one for a better view of the sky.  The staircase inside the tower creaked noisily with each step she climbed, but Thalyssra hardly noticed, still troubled by thoughts of Malrodi.  No one was around to hear, anyway.

For that matter, no one was around to see.  Thalyssra let the warp-illusion melt off her body, revealing her clothing and tattooed purple skin to the night.

A doorway atop the staircase led her onto a wood platform protruding from the tower's peak into the open air.  Wide enough for several people to stand abreast, this platform looked the same as the one attached to the other tower.  But for some reason, Thalyssra's tower had no zeppelin docked for the night.

Pleased she managed to find the highest point in all Orgrimmar, Thalyssra lay down on the empty docking platform.  A perfect view for stargazing.  Nothing but pure open sky.  Getting comfy with her back on stiff wood proved a challenge, but the glorious sight of the vast expanse above her made any discomfort worth it.

Time slid on deeper into the night, pulling the stars along in their eternal slow, smooth revolutions.  Thalyssra envied them.  Unlike the stars, the thoughts roiling inside her head were anything but smooth in their movements.

She was not sure how long she lay there, gazing up at the stars, lost in her own mind.

“Unwise to wander alone in hostile territory, Grand Magistrix.”

The startled shriek Thalyssra loosed could have been mistaken for a dying owlcat.  She bounded to her feet on the platform and faced the speaker.

Red eyes burned in the night.

“Orgrimmar is not the gentlest of territories,” Thalyssra snapped in reply, trying to steady her fluttering pulse.  “But the only _hostiles_ I've met here are those rude enough to sneak up on a person and frighten a few centuries off her lifespan!”

At least Sylvanas was fully dressed now.  Armored up, with bow and quiver both strapped to her back.  Sylvanas shifted her posture to lean against the doorframe of the tower staircase, and the movement caught the glint of a dagger at her belt.

Layers of weapons and armor could not dispel Thalyssra's too-fresh memory of torchlight licking over Sylvanas's bare skin.  Thalyssra shook her head sternly to banish the image.

“How did you get up here without making any noise, Warchief?  Those stairs creaked worse than an old rocking chair when I climbed them.”

Sylvanas tossed her head arrogantly.  “Stalking lynxes in the forest I grew up in takes far more stealth than sneaking up on a mage.  If I wanted it, you would be dead right now.”

If that boast was intended to impress or intimidate Thalyssra, it accomplished neither.  Unperturbed, Thalyssra casually arched an eyebrow at the hunter.

“In Suramar, we put bell-collars on manasaber kittens who cannot stay out of mischief.  The jingle of the bell makes it difficult to pounce on their prey.  Perhaps I should snap such a collar around _your_ pretty neck.”

Sylvanas responded with a quiet, hollow laugh, like the whisk of a snake shedding its skin.  She stepped away from the doorframe and closer to Thalyssra on the platform.  Perhaps testing if the other elf would back away.  Thalyssra held her ground.

The two of them spoke with each other every day during negotiations, but always in the Embassy with other race leaders.  Not alone together like this.  Not after that... incident when Sylvanas visited Thalyssra's guest chambers.  Their interactions since that day remained civil, though not exactly trusting.  Wary of each other, but undeniably intrigued, even if neither woman would admit it aloud.

Sylvanas said, “My dreadguards came to me in panic a short while ago.  ‘We lost the Grand Magistrix' is not news I’m happy to receive in the depths of night.  It interrupted my...  Well, never mind that.”

Thalyssra awkwardly smoothed her wine-purple garments.  She knew precisely what it interrupted.  Sylvanas did not seem aware Thalyssra walked in on it, a fact for which Thalyssra thanked every star she knew.  Tonight was uncomfortable enough already.

“Anyway, I ordered the dreadguards to search for you.  Began my own search as well.  If they cannot be trusted to keep track of you, they cannot be trusted to find you.”

So much for Thalyssra's plan of slipping back before anyone noticed her gone.  Fortunate Sylvanas kept it between herself and that squadron of dreadguards instead of marshaling every soldier in Orgrimmar to find Thalyssra.  Probably due to Sylvanas's own pride, to avoid revealing her followers' mistake to the rest of the Horde.

Thalyssra's arcane tattoos gleamed softly in the starlight, like tiny reflections of the heavens.  Sylvanas traced the patterns along Thalyssra's skin with her gaze, red eyes admiring the sight for a few moments before speaking again.

“Ever since you arrived in this city, I knew you would be a difficult tame.  Though I never expected you to escape your escort.”

“Escape?  You told me I was not a prisoner.”

A difficult _tame?_   Disturbing.  Perhaps it was just a hunter expression.  Regardless, Sylvanas needed to realize Thalyssra was not so easily controlled as Sylvanas wished.  Thalyssra refused to back down.  To do so would be to shame the rest of the shal'dorei and Suramar itself.

“You need not have roused yourself, Warchief.  I merely wanted to enjoy some stargazing.  This city’s people are not in danger from me.”

“I do not worry about that.”

The lie in Sylvanas's voice stood out like a stain on cloth.  Thalyssra almost laughed at the irony.  Here she stood, an unallied visitor to this city with none of her own people to back her, surrounded by a faction known for its bloodlust... yet Sylvanas was equally worried by Thalyssra being here.

Thalyssra tried to see it from the other leader's perspective, and realized Thalyssra was a foreign ruler who could decide to join the enemy faction any day now and strike right at the Horde's core, was an ancient spellcaster capable of evading guards at her leisure, was wandering the city unwatched in the middle of the night...  It made sense for Sylvanas to be vigilant.

Once, along the creeks surrounding Shal'Aran, Thalyssra saw a nightsaber and a manalisk drink from the same stream, the beasts' eyes remaining warily fixed on each other across the shoreline even while they drank.  Thalyssra and Sylvanas were different creatures posing different threats to each other, but they could reach a cautious balance.  There was no reason to fight.  Yet.

Sylvanas went on, “It's your safety I worry for, Grand Magistrix.  Anything could happen to you wandering around alone!  Have you any idea what a diplomatic nightmare it would be for me to explain to the nightborne why their leader came to harm in my capital?  I want to ally with Suramar, not start a new war.”

“I am hardly a glass figurine, Warchief.”

Thalyssra would not put up with coddling.  In the short time she had known Sylvanas, she could already see a protective tendency toward others, albeit with a predatory streak.  A shepherd was protective of sheep, but so too was a wolf protective of the sheep he pursued, if only to keep someone else from stealing his kill first.  Too soon to tell whether Sylvanas was shepherd or wolf or both.

Besides, protectiveness easily darkened into possessiveness.  Sylvanas seemed the type who could not discern between them.

“Indeed, Grand Magistrix, a glass figurine you are not.  Perhaps it was folly of me to expect you to sit meekly on a shelf,” Sylvanas admitted.  “Despite how impressed I am that you eluded my dreadguards, they still must be punished for their failure to watch you.”

“Don't go too hard on them.  Mages are not so cunning as you hunters, but we do have a few tricks up our sleeves.”

Sylvanas pursed her lips in mild vexation.  “You won't tell me how you slipped out of your chambers and made it all the way through the canyon unseen, will you?”

“Warchief, I suspect you of all people understand the value of secrets.”

Thalyssra's smile was a panther's grin, making sure to flaunt her heavy fangs.

Sylvanas grumbled, though in a good-humored way.  Yet she did not move back toward the doorway leading down the tower.  Did she intend to stay up here with Thalyssra?

“Can I assume you enjoy my company, Warchief?”

“You can assume I want to see how long it takes my dreadguards to find you.  If it’s longer than an hour, I'm feeding them to the bats.  Pathetic.”

Thalyssra laughed at the jest.  It... was a jest, right?

“We shall give the poor fellows a chance, then,” said Thalyssra.

There was nothing to do but wait.  Thalyssra lay back down on the empty docking platform, deciding she might as well watch the stars a little longer.

The tread of boots over wood announced Sylvanas's approach.  She unstrapped bow and quiver from her back and set them aside so she could lie down on the platform.  Right next to Thalyssra.

Thalyssra masked her surprise, unsure what to say.  Their shoulders bumped each other gently as they lay side by side in silence and stared skyward together.

It was quite odd to lie beside a corpse.  Like lying beside a marble statue.  Beautiful in form, but cold and motionless.  Thalyssra could not even hear any breathing.  The lack was... not quite frightening, but a little disquieting.

_Right, she told me undead only breathe when they need air to talk.  So keep her talking._

Breaking the eerie silence was one excuse for conversation, but beyond that... Thalyssra wanted to learn more about Sylvanas.  Asking the people of Orgrimmar about their leader gave only a limited perception.  She wanted to know the woman, not the legend.

“Do you stargaze often, Warchief?”

“Cannot say I do.  High elves are more sun-focused than you nightborne and night elves.  When I was a ranger, I learned to use the night as cover and to find the north-point star to orient myself, but I held no fondness for nighttime.  Now I find I appreciate it more.  After the sun dies, the night gets a chance to display its own form of beauty.”

That spectral voice grew distant when talking about her original life.  As if speaking of a dream she once had, not actual memories she lived.  Enthusiasm returned when talking about the “now” time that she was dead.  Thalyssra supposed Sylvanas had reached some kind of peace with what she had become.

“We shal'dorei greatly appreciate the night's quiet appeal,” Thalyssra agreed.  “Such a pity so many races waste the night on sleep.  They miss the beauty darkness offers.”

“Perhaps darkness frightens them,” Sylvanas replied softly, still gazing above.

“It does not frighten me,” Thalyssra said.

It was never the garish brightness of the living sun, but always subtle starlight and the dark stillness of night which set an ache of beauty in Thalyssra's heart.  Perhaps not too foreign from the dark stillness of death.

_Is that why I find her so entrancing?_

Hold.  Where did _that_ thought come from?

Sylvanas said, “Undead don't require sleep.  I lie down occasionally, just to recuperate or gather my thoughts, but never fall asleep.”

No sleep, no food...  At least _some_ living desires remained in undead, Thalyssra mused, remembering what she stumbled upon in the throne room.  She cleared her throat and tried to focus on the topic at hand.

“In Suramar, we have star augurs who read portents from the celestial movements.  I claim no such power, but I enjoy gazing.  Since you do not sleep, you should look at the stars more often.”

“Perhaps you can teach me about them, Grand Magistrix?  I want to learn, but I will settle for no one less.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

The polite thing to say.  But beyond mere politeness, the idea of sharing something peacefully simple with Sylvanas really would be a pleasure, Thalyssra realized with surprise.

“Constellations are an easy starting point,” Thalyssra said.  “Do you recognize any?”

Sylvanas pointed skyward.  “I know that one well.  The raven.”

“Ah, of course.  Your Forsaken's sigil.”

Thalyssra pointed at another constellation hanging above them as they lay side by side.  Sylvanas's head turned to follow Thalyssra's direction.

“Do you know that one?”

“Looks like... a tauren with long horns?” Sylvanas guessed.

“Mm, not quite.  That is the mammoth.  And to the east, following his hoofprints, rises his sister the kraken.  See her tentacles reaching to pluck the other stars around her?”

Thalyssra traced the patterns in the air with her fingertip.  There rose the occasional thread of smoke from a cooking fire down in the city, and scant light from a few households who were up late.  Other than that, the sky was clear.  Nothing to disrupt their view, and no one to see or hear the two elves upon these heights.

Thalyssra showed Sylvanas the crab and dragon and other constellations, and taught her names of individual stars significant to the shal’dorei.

Sylvanas listened attentively to every word.  She knew little of the subject, but she was a sharp learner.

She also proved remarkably stubborn.

“It's a triangle.  It is honestly just a triangle.”

Thalyssra stifled a laugh.  “Warchief, as I told you.  That is the wolf constellation.”

“Mana-swells must have bloated the brains of your star augurs!  A wolf?  I've seen knots of tangled bowstring that would pass for a more convincing wolf.”

Sylvanas dissolved into dark mutters about how anyone could ever get a wolf out of that star pattern, much to Thalyssra's amusement.

Conversation came easy, and Thalyssra's nerves calmed as the night went on.  Slowly, as gradual as the stars' revolutions, she grew more comfortable with Sylvanas.  While Sylvanas learned about the stars, Thalyssra was learning about _her_ , even if Sylvanas did not realize it.

_Domineering as you are, you still listen to others and admit when they know more than you about something.  And you can accept their guidance in such matters._

Those were good qualities in anyone, but essential in a leader.

 _Can I really trust you, though?_   Thalyssra wondered.   _Pledge my people's allegiance to you and put our future in your hands?_

Maybe Sylvanas was not the heartless warmonger Thalyssra once feared she would be.  But Thalyssra could not yet trust the Warchief's intentions toward Suramar.  Nor was she certain what intentions or emotions Sylvanas could even _feel_.  Were all undead incapable of joy or love or compassion?  What sort of comrade would that make for the nightborne?

A memory from the very beginning of the Dusk Lily rebellion, of Thalyssra clutching a hand to her side and helplessly watching her own lifeblood drain through her fingers, was a painful lesson in being careful who to trust.  The shal'dorei had an old saying, “Fear your enemies with their long swords, but fear more your allies.  Those close to you need only a short blade to reach you.”  Thalyssra would not make that mistake again.  Not for herself, not for her people.

Yet here she was amidst this raging world war, this Battle for Azeroth, contentedly lying next to someone neither enemy nor ally.

Four days Thalyssra spent in Orgrimmar so far.  Hours negotiating with Sylvanas and other Horde leaders in the Embassy, hours more wandering the city speaking with its inhabitants.  Thalyssra was still not convinced the Horde was the right path for the nightborne.  Yet neither was she convinced the Horde was the _wrong_ path.  Else she would have left Orgrimmar for Stormwind by now to pledge Suramar into the Alliance instead.  Sylvanas must know this as well.  Know it and take encouragement from it.

“Thank you for this lesson, Grand Magistrix.  You are an excellent teacher.  I learned much about the stars.”

“I also learned some things tonight, Warchief.”  Before Sylvanas could ask what she meant by that, Thalyssra added, “We should continue your education sometime.”

Sylvanas idly tapped a heel against the platform beneath their backs.  “I doubt this tower’s builders intended it for stargazing.”

This tower was half of a pair, though the matching platform on the other tower had a zeppelin docked for the night.

Thalyssra pointed out, “This platform would make a good zeppelin dock, like the other.  Why do you not use this one as such?”

Sylvanas went silent for a few moments.

“We did,” she said eventually.  “Many years.  But the zeppelin to the Undercity flies no more.”

Sylvanas's voice sharpened, haunting and dire.

“We will conquer our homeland back.  I made a vow... Lordaeron belongs to the Forsaken, always and forever!  I will not fail my people again.”

“I believe you.”

Both women turned their heads from the sky to look at each other.

“We nightborne took back Suramar from our enemies, against terrible odds.  There were many times in the rebellion when victory seemed hopeless and despair nearly took me.  But I found strength in my people, and the shal'dorei persevered.  Your Forsaken are as resilient as you.  I believe you shall reclaim your home again.”

The two of them were different, so different, yet they found common ground.

Strange to share a casual talk like this instead of a diplomatic meeting.  And yet, not strange.  Up here with only the stars to witness, they were not Grand Magistrix and Warchief, just two people.  What did the raven or the mammoth or the wolf care?  The celestial patterns were moved by forces beyond mortal grasp, not by concerns of Azeroth's children.

Thalyssra felt some of that celestial calmness infuse her now.  She was not even bothered anymore by lying beside a corpse.

Everything was so cold and dark and still about Sylvanas except those burning eyes.  The two women stared into each other's eyes from scant inches apart.

“Grand Magistrix,” Sylvanas began, then trailed off, uncharacteristically hesitant.  “The day you arrived, when I came to your chambers...”

Thalyssra's mouth went dry.  That was not what she was expecting Sylvanas to say.  Though she agreed it was a topic they must confront at some point.

Sylvanas did not need to finish the sentence.  They both knew precisely what she referred to.  Four days later, the memory still burned in their minds.  What began as a handshake and ended with...

_...With an unseen hand of magic, Thalyssra reached deeper, into the dead flesh, and touched that grievous seething eminence within Sylvanas.  Brushing her own arcane potency against Sylvanas's dark aura as if dipping fingertips into a running creek._

_That black energy rippled and recoiled, and Thalyssra felt Sylvanas's aura quake beneath the arcane touch.  What Thalyssra intended to be a faint exploring brush Sylvanas would never notice, was instead a seizing clutch.  Thalyssra's tattoos flared, etched runes coming alive, while inside Sylvanas the arcane sparked and flickered like a candle struggling to stay alight in the dark gale of her essence._

_Sylvanas's eyes snapped wide, her jaw slackening.  Her throat corded in a cry, though no sound made it out..._

Thalyssra pulled herself out of the memory before it consumed her.  Sylvanas was still staring intently into her moonlight-white eyes, capturing Thalyssra without laying a finger on her.

“It did not hurt,” Sylvanas said.  “But it was... unexpected.”

Sylvanas was prompting for an answer without directly asking.  Too proud to admit she was caught unawares and left reeling.  Thalyssra did not press her over it.  In fact, Thalyssra decided to confess to not knowing what happened.

“I would not have done it had I any idea my arcane touch would spark such a reaction inside you.  I was simply curious about the necromantic aura.  Mages are curious by nature, especially concerning magics unfamiliar to us.”

“I've been near many mages since dying.  None ever sensed what you could.  ...Or perhaps none ever had the guts to poke the Dark Lady's spirit.”

That last part carried some exasperation.  Thalyssra sighed ruefully, knowing she deserved it.

“My friend Oculeth says I am too brave for my own good.”

Thalyssra averted her eyes from Sylvanas's, looking up at the stars again instead.  She was too uncomfortable over this topic to keep staring into Sylvanas's eyes.  Perhaps too intimate.

“Skin contact alone would not have caused that reaction inside you.  It only resulted from my deliberate magical 'poking'.  Fortunate it was you I tried it on, however.  I believe any lesser undead would have had their spirit ripped out of their corpse and disintegrated by the arcane stimulation.  If I am the only mage powerful enough to cause that spark, perhaps you are likewise the only undead powerful enough to experience it without harm.”

Quickly, Thalyssra added, “Forgive me, I do not mean to frighten you.  And I certainly will never test that theory on any of your Forsaken.”

“I am not afraid.”  Sylvanas shifted onto her side to face Thalyssra directly.  “That spark, as you call it.  It... was not an unpleasant sensation.”

Thalyssra's breath caught.

“Are you trying to tell me... you enjoyed it?”

“I'm trying to tell you to do it again.”

Thalyssra went rigid, the wood platform pressing roughly into her back, her mind shuffling through itself in a clumsy rush for some sort of decent response to possibly the last thing she ever expected to hear.

When Thalyssra found nothing, Sylvanas nudged a boot between Thalyssra's bare shins, threading her lower leg through both of Thalyssra's.

“If you do decide to join the Horde, you must learn to obey my commands.”

That ghostly voice carried a silky-venomous coating.

Thalyssra took hold of herself at that.  No matter her own floundering, she must stand up for her people.

“I think not, Warchief.  If you expect the nightborne to be your servants rather than your comrades, prepare for disappointment.”

Thalyssra's long ears stiffened sternly.  She added, “Remember that bell-collar for mischievous manasaber kittens I threatened to snap on you earlier tonight?  The idea appeals to me more and more.  Clearly, you have manners to learn.”

The corners of Sylvanas's eyes crinkled.  She opened her mouth for what Thalyssra was sure would be an equally teasing retort.

Before Sylvanas could speak, there came the rattling creak of many bony feet rushing up the tower's rickety stairs.

Thalyssra's escort had finally tracked her down.

The dozen dreadguards led by Captain Daunwell barreled out from the staircase doorway onto the docking platform, in such haste to find her they nearly piled onto each other in a sharp-edged jumble of armor and decay-exposed joints.

When Daunwell saw Thalyssra, relief loosened what was left of his face muscles.  Relief shattered once he saw who she was with.

Both elves rose to standing and faced the guards.  Even with Thalyssra barefoot and Sylvanas in boots, Thalyssra stood a head taller.

Sylvanas's bow and quiver still rested at her feet on the platform.  She was equally intimidating even without holding her weapon.  The dreadguards in their fearsome black plate might as well have been nothing more than scrawny black-fleas up against a looming spider.

When Sylvanas spoke, it came out harsher than the tone she took with Thalyssra.

“Slow, Daunwell.  Unacceptably slow.”

He crossed his arms over his chest in reverent salute.

“I beg forgiveness, Dark Lady.  We searched every crevice of the canyon for her, but --”

“Enough.  Obviously, the Grand Magistrix has been found.  You are lucky she was unharmed.”

And luckier she did not wander into somewhere she was not supposed to be, Sylvanas's glare conveyed.

The dreadguards trembled so hard their knees rattled like dice.  They knew what consequences awaited them if Thalyssra came to harm under their watch or harmed the Horde.

“Now then, shall I feed all of you to my bats as punishment for your lapse?  Or perhaps Saurfang's wolfriders can make toys for their mounts from your bones.”

Sylvanas might actually be serious, Thalyssra worried.  Though deeply fond of her Forsaken, Sylvanas did not tolerate failure.  Thalyssra laid a hand on her arm.

“Warchief, I implore clemency.  These warriors serve you well and have protected me honorably during my visit here.  I would not see them come to harm on my account.”

Tapping her dark lips musingly, Sylvanas reconsidered a punishment.  She glanced at Thalyssra out of the corner of her eye, then arrived at a decision and addressed the guards again.

“Come morning, all of you will report to the pet trainer and purchase collars with bells.”

“Of course, my queen, we will gladly...  What?”

Confusion painted the captain's face and the other dreadguards beneath their helmets.  Thalyssra had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

“You will wear these collars for a month,” Sylvanas continued.  “And jingle with each step you take, until the constant annoyance teaches you to be more watchful of your duties.  Do you understand me?”

He nodded slowly.  “We... understand your orders, my queen.”  Clearly not the joke behind those orders.

“Now, return to your post outside the Grand Magistrix's chambers.  I will escort her back myself.”

Sylvanas flicked her head curtly at the guards.  With a salute, they obeyed and left, back down those creaky stairs.  Their spines slumped more than usual, ashamed they displeased their queen but relieved she allowed them to continue serving her.  Banished from her favor likely would have grieved them more than being tossed to the bats.

Once the creaking faded to silence and the two women were alone again, tension loosened from Sylvanas's body.  It occurred to Thalyssra that perhaps Sylvanas rarely got an opportunity to be away from eyes that looked at her in fear or worship or both.  Well, Sylvanas would get neither of those from Thalyssra.

Sylvanas prepared to gather up her bow and quiver to leave.  She looked at Thalyssra as if expecting her to follow.

“A while, Warchief, if I may.  I want to enjoy the stars a little longer.  But I shan't keep you if you wish to go resume... whatever you were doing prior.”  Thalyssra managed to keep her expression smooth when saying that.  “You have my word, I shall return to my bed tonight and not slip away again.  It is not my intention to violate any negotiation terms.”

Thalyssra lay down on the docking platform once again.  And once again, Sylvanas came to lie beside her.  Thalyssra blinked in surprise.

“You are also staying, Warchief?”

“For protection.”

Sylvanas meant Thalyssra's protection, of course.  But Thalyssra could not resist...

“I see, scared to walk back alone?  Worry not, little hunter.  I shall keep you safe.”

Sylvanas rolled her eyes.  “You know, I could snap a bell-collar on you, too.  A mischievous kitten if ever I met one.”

Thalyssra laughed.  “Try it, and come away with naught but a faceful of scratches.  Even city kittens still have wild claws.”

“Indeed you are teaching me the truth of that, Grand Magistrix.”

Side by side, they gazed heavenward, quietly appreciating the night's beauty together.  Sylvanas stopped breathing again, but it no longer unnerved Thalyssra.

They stayed a while under the stars, silent but companionable.

 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The constellations in this chapter are from the Hearthstone zodiac and the Star Augur encounter in the Nighthold raid.
> 
> Arcanist Malrodi is from a quest in Suramar. This is not the last we will hear of her...


	7. Orgrimmar Arc - Control the Battlefield

 

 

* * *

 

_I feel the diplomatic process is beginning to break down._

An arrow wailed past Thalyssra’s head and trailed smoky dark magic in its wake.  She barely dodged in time.  Had Thalyssra been a heartbeat slower, that arrow would have pierced right through her eye.

Sylvanas took aim for another shot at Thalyssra.  She drew her bow, fletchings kissing her cheek.

After stargazing together the night before last, Thalyssra thought she and Sylvanas were beginning to understand each other.  But now...

“Rath-domaas!” Thalyssra cast.

She hurled a blast of arcane magic at Sylvanas.  Rather, at where Sylvanas was a moment ago.  The hunter already moved, barely waiting for the arrow to leave the bow before re-positioning.

Sweat pebbled Thalyssra’s brow and stuck her white hair to her nape.  The hot sun of an Orgrimmar afternoon offered no mercy, only worsening the combat’s hard exertion.  Her bare feet scuffed the dirt ground and kicked up dust in her hasty maneuvers to avoid Sylvanas’s shots.

“You can do it, Thalyssra!  Get her!” Liadrin shouted in encouragement from nearby.

Frustration strained Thalyssra’s voice.  “I cannot even keep track of her!”

Sylvanas said nothing.  She did not need to.  That smirk of hers carried many words.  She pulled another arrow from the quiver on her back, eyes locked with Thalyssra’s.  Her cruel smile looked jarring, ghastly beneath those tear-blackened cheeks.

Thalyssra cast another barrage of arcane magic.  Which resulted in another wide miss when Sylvanas darted aside yet again.  The bolts of shimmering purple energy streaked uselessly through empty air.

Thalyssra had not managed to land a single spell on her too-fast target.  The only positive was that Thalyssra’s salvo of spells held Sylvanas at bay, forced her to keep moving.  No spell connected yet, but nor did any arrow.  Thalyssra managed to dodge or block everything flying her way.

Thalyssra was definitely on the defensive.  She did not need to be a scryer to see there was slim chance of her defeating Sylvanas.

Thalyssra gritted her fangs.  She would not give up!  Too much was at stake for her to lose this fight.

Liadrin was not the only onlooker.  Surrounding Thalyssra and Sylvanas stood a beating throng of Horde.  They were far enough to be safe from stray arrows or arcane missiles, but near enough their roars and shouts boomed in Thalyssra’s ears.

Hollers rang out of “Dark Lady!” and “Show her what the Horde is made of, Warchief!”

Thalyssra groaned and wondered how it all came to this.

 

* * *

  

Thalyssra had gone for one of her usual exploratory strolls through Orgrimmar during a break in negotiation sessions.

She was never alone on these walks.  Though taciturn as always, lately her companions were more... musical.

 _Jingle_ , came a dozen little chimes interspersed with the tread of skeletal feet.   _Jingle._ She walked onward along dirt streets.  _Jingle._

Every dreadguard in her escort wore a leather pet collar around his neck, with a bell resting in the hollow of his throat.

Thalyssra was most disappointed she had not been there to see the pet trainer’s face when a dozen spike-armored and scowling undead warriors showed up to make a bulk purchase of belled collars.  The faces of passersby were entertaining enough.  Everyone stared, some gaped, some giggled incredulously, and one pandaren even rubbed her paws in her eyes as if convinced sun exposure had cursed her with hallucinations.

 _Jingle._ Each step.   _Jingle._ No one on the streets was brave enough to ask walking corpses carrying sharp swords why in the world they were wearing bell-collars.  Or perhaps passersby decided the spectacle was best appreciated without context.  Many simply shook heads in bafflement and assumed it must be some bizarre new undead fashion.

The dreadguards said nothing and pretended everything was normal.  As if ignoring it would erase their humiliation.  Doleful but obedient, they dutifully submitted to their queen’s punishment for failing to keep track of Thalyssra as ordered.  They shadowed Thalyssra even closer in the two days since, like little black beetles swarming a rose.  Worried what new punishment the Dark Lady would devise should they lose the nightborne emissary again.

The dreadguards still could not puzzle out how Thalyssra slipped from under their noses to go stargazing.  She sometimes caught them peering at her when they thought she was not looking, or whispering among themselves and debating with emphatic gestures.  Prevailing theory seemed to be she had teleported across the city somehow.  That none of them, even their queen, knew the real explanation only increased their awed regard for the Dusk Lily’s supposed “exotic mystique”.  At times, it was a great struggle for Thalyssra to keep from laughing.

The dreadguards followed as Thalyssra’s walk took her from the Embassy building where negotiations with Horde leaders were held, toward a deeper part of the canyon where barracks and mustering grounds butted against the stern rock walls.

She came across a cleared flat space of packed dirt, encircled by a waist-high fence.  Well, waist-high to a nightborne.  She supposed goblins could simply walk under the fence rail without scraping their heads.

The open space was far from empty.  Spectators crowded the rail, and inside the fenced-off grounds moved dozens of paired Horde fighters.  Sounds filled the air of cracks of colliding wood, thuds of dashing feet and battle-leaps, hollers of triumph, and groans of defeat.

“A combat arena,” Thalyssra realized aloud.

Fighters of all classes had gathered here to practice.  The arena was large enough for several pairs to duel in their own corners.  Weapon racks lined the edge, and even a shaman stood by in case the sparring got too rough and someone needed healing.  Wise, given some pairs dueled with steel instead of wooden practice weapons.

The crowd standing behind the fence watched the fights enthusiastically.  Cheering their friends, studying combat techniques, or just waiting their turn to jump in the arena.  From scarred veterans to young-bloods yet to break their tusks, there was a vibrant spectrum of races among the spectators and duelists.  Green orcs, brown tauren, blue trolls, peach elves, and more.  The arena seemed a microcosm of the entire Horde.

Thalyssra idled a while to watch, leaning her tattooed forearms on the fence alongside the other spectators.  Several nodded and smiled at her.  She smiled back amicably.  Though she was not part of the Horde, she was becoming a familiar face around Orgrimmar.  Even those initially skeptical of her now trusted that the nightborne emissary was here with noble intentions.

Thalyssra watched the pair sparring close to her section of the fence.  An orc and a blood elf.  The orc she recognized as Saurfang, who she had come to regard well from their negotiations in the Embassy.

Not every Horde leader attended every negotiation.  They took turns attempting to convince Thalyssra to join their faction, to... varying degrees of success.  The session Thalyssra was currently taking a break from was with Gallywix and the Warchief.  Both had slyly tried to inveigle Thalyssra into divulging her Azerite tracking method she spoke of when first arriving in Orgrimmar.

The blood elf dueling Saurfang in the arena had her back toward the fence.  Too focused on the combat to pay watchers any mind.  The two wielded wooden practice weapons, his huge axe against the blood elf’s sword.

Saurfang gave a mighty grunt of exertion, cleaving his axe through the air.  The blood elf parried, but even his blocked swing carried enough force to tremor his opponent.  She regained strong footing quickly, and thrust her sword straight back at him.  Thalyssra’s eyes darted, trying to keep up.  Blows aplenty were traded back and forth.  Swings and cleaves, parries and side-steps and stomps in the packed dirt.

Saurfang and the other men in the arena were bare-chested, while his blood elf opponent and the other women wore only bandeaus over their chests.  From this close, Thalyssra saw both combatants bore old scars.  The Battle for Azeroth was far from their first war.

Saurfang and the blood elf lowered their weapons for a pause between sparring rounds, both of them lathered and panting like warhorses.

Saurfang noticed Thalyssra among the watchers.  He thudded a fist into his pectoral, which she had learned was a respectful greeting among orcs.  She returned the gesture, albeit more gently.  Wanting to befriend the Horde did not mean she would start thumping her chest to bruising point.

Saurfang’s sparring partner had her back to Thalyssra, and turned around to see who he greeted.

 _Liadrin!_ Thalyssra realized with surprise.

Thalyssra smiled warmly at her friend.  They were near enough to speak across the fence.

“I did not recognize you without fifty pounds of plate.”

Liadrin plucked at her cloth pants, all she wore apart from soft boots and her bandeau.

“I was once a priest.  Sometimes it can be refreshing to return to a cloth life.  You mages have it easy.  Although...”  Liadrin tapped Saurfang’s massive wooden practice axe.  “...I don’t imagine I would enjoy the steel version of this thing smashing into me without plenty of armor in between.”

Saurfang barked a laugh and lifted the axe onto his shoulder.  “You underestimate mages, paladin.  I’d be dead before I even got close enough to swing at her.”

Thalyssra gestured to the other pairs in the arena and the spectators crowding the fence rail.

“I see sparring duels are quite popular among the Horde.  Have you not had enough of fighting?  Especially during wartime.”

After the harrowing defeat of the Legion, the last thing Thalyssra wanted was to dive into more fighting.

Violence was necessary for survival.  None knew this better than the Horde.  Yet, there was a difference between violence for survival and violence for fulfillment.  Too often, it seemed the Horde sought the latter.

“What better time to practice than wartime?” Liadrin countered.  “We must keep our blades sharp and our skills sharper if we hope to win the Battle for Azeroth.  The Alliance is no easy foe.”

Liadrin hefted her wooden sword and looked to Saurfang again.

“To that end, how about one more round, Overlord?”

Saurfang let his axe answer for him.  Liadrin squared her shoulders and met him head-on.

They returned to sparring, making good use of their corner while the other pairs in the arena fought on.  Sharp cracks burst the air whenever wooden blades collided, fast followed by cheers from the watchers, as thunder followed lightning.  Liadrin met Saurfang’s wide sweeps and heavy cleaves with her sword’s powerful overhead strikes, followed by sharp diagonal cuts.  Light on her feet, she balanced her lunges perfectly without overextending herself.  Thalyssra was impressed by how Liadrin wielded the sword.  The slender elf kept up with the bulky orc’s mighty swings, perhaps spurred by knowing Thalyssra watched her.

By nightborne standards, blood elves were the only civilized race among the Horde.  Even they were a mere glimmer of true Highborne radiance.  Yet Liadrin did not stand out among all the other Horde gathered here.  After little more than a decade, she and her kin were now as thoroughly entrenched in the Horde as orcs.  Thalyssra regarded the other races surrounding the arena.  So different from each other, yet united strong beneath one red banner.  These people did not _join_ the Horde, they _became_ Horde.

So too would the nightborne, if the Warchief and other leaders managed to negotiate successfully with Thalyssra.  A week into this emissary mission in Orgrimmar, Thalyssra was still not certain her people should pledge their loyalty.  Neither Horde nor Alliance seemed the right fit.  And once a side was chosen, there was no going back.

The shal’dorei would gain from becoming part of the Horde.  How much of themselves must they give in return?  Their traditions, their values, even their lives?  Losing their history was one fear, but losing their future was what truly kept Thalyssra awake in her bed, searching her soul and praying the stars would help her guide her people in this strange new world they emerged into.

Thalyssra kept watching as Liadrin and Saurfang finished their final round of sparring.

There seemed to be some sort of ritual to observe upon the duel’s completion.  Liadrin and Saurfang stood straight and ceremonially saluted each other with weapons held in front of their chests.  They then took turns drinking from the same waterskin.  Thalyssra glanced around and saw another pair performing the same ritual on their own.  Even in practice duels there were formalities to respect.

Thalyssra was slightly disappointed the duel was over.  She rather enjoyed watching the muscles of Liadrin’s bare back and shoulders flex when wielding the sword.  Nightborne appreciated beauty in all things.  The paladin panted from exertion, her cheeks a healthy flush.  Golden, sun-warmed skin glistened with sweat.  Rich copper hair was held in a high, proud tail.  From head to toe, Liadrin brimmed with vigor and passion.

Thalyssra could not deny her friend’s appeal.  Yet... neither did Thalyssra want to pursue anything more than friendship.  If Thalyssra looked a little deeper in herself, it was troubling she did not find Liadrin more appealing.  She knew she ought to.  Liadrin was valorous, honest, and beautiful as day.  So bright.  So _alive_.

_Why can I not help comparing her to..._

“Your turn, Thalyssra.”

Thalyssra blinked at the interruption to her thoughts.  Liadrin took another sword from one of the weapon racks and held it hilt-out for her.

Thalyssra lifted her hands in denial.

“I am no use with a blade, even a wooden one.  Spells are my weapons.”

The last time she came in contact with a blade was during her initial uprising against Elisande.  The wound on her abdomen had scarred over by now, but the occasional flare of pain reminded her to leave blades to others.

Liadrin re-racked the extra sword, undaunted.

“All right, then.  Your spells versus my sword.”

“You -- you cannot be serious.”

The expression on that beautiful peach-gold face told Thalyssra that Liadrin was indeed serious.

“Liadrin, such a match is terribly unfair against you!  It would be like spanking a child.”

Copper eyebrows lifted teasingly.  “Oh-ho, listen to you boast!  I’ve seen dwarves with jugs of ale in them who did not brag so hard.”

Thalyssra protested, “I am not trying to boast.  You are my friend, I would never want to hurt you in a fight.”

“We’ll see who has more bruises at the end of this.  Get in the arena and let your actions do the talking!”

The other pairs in the arena continued their own duels, but several spectators were now watching Thalyssra instead.  Eager to see if the nightborne emissary would accept this challenge or back down.

“As you wish, Liadrin.”

From behind Thalyssra came an uneasy shuffle of armor.  And tiny jingles.

“Grand Magistrix, forgive our impertinence, but is engaging in combat... wise?” rasped one of her little beetles within his spiky black plate exoskeleton.  Another added, “We were charged with protection.”

Protecting Thalyssra, and protecting any Horde from her.  One punishment was enough.  The dreadguards did not want to tempt further wrath by letting Thalyssra get injured, nor by letting a foreign mage accidentally rip apart a Horde member in a duel.  Her little protectors, only chest-high to a nightborne, looked up at her pleadingly and tugged their bell-collars to chime for emphasis.  They could not manage pup-eyes with decay-hollowed sockets, but they came close.

“Merely some friendly sparring.  If I take injury, tell her this was my idea,” Thalyssra whispered reassuringly.

There was no need to specify which “her”.  The guards knew it was not Liadrin the mage referred to.

Since they had no power to stop Thalyssra, the dreadguards reluctantly agreed to wait among the other spectators.

Thalyssra did not take violence lightly, but this duel was just for play.  Not true violence, she tried to convince herself.  Also... despite her efforts toward humility, Thalyssra was not immune to occasional flickers of the haughtiness inherent to her race.  Perhaps a tiny spark of nightborne ego was ignited by Liadrin’s challenge.

Thalyssra gave a fanged smile.  Moonlight-white eyes narrowed dangerously.

“When you are crying in my arms like a child and pleading for your scrapes to be kissed, just remember that you asked for this, paladin.”

The spectators whooped and egged on the two elves.  Thalyssra climbed over the fence, swapping places with Saurfang.  In their corner of the arena, she and Liadrin were out of the way of other fighters.  Thalyssra would not want to hit anyone with a stray spell.

She took a casting stance.  Weight on her dominant foot, hands lifted to both sides.

“Shall we begin?”

Liadrin swung in reply.

Her wooden sword glowed with holy power.  Whether steel or wood, the Light itself empowered a paladin’s strikes.  Thalyssra blocked the sword with a barrier of magic, then had to dart aside when Liadrin quickly rebounded with a sharp diagonal slice through Thalyssra’s defenses.

Having already eaten her daily arcfruit, Thalyssra had plenty of mana to spare.  She opened herself to the arcane and spoke ancient words, dancing her hands through the air to weave magic into existence.

Thalyssra did not create the magic.  She was merely a conduit for a glorious universal power, manifest by her own will.  The arcane was infinite.  The strength of a spell depended on how much willpower its caster possessed to withstand the force of the cosmos.  Arcane was the magic of the Titans, the magic binding all reality.  The force that birthed stars against the void of space.  Thalyssra was just one mortal, but when she drew on the arcane, she almost thought she could feel the beyond.

Her next spellcast swelled within her, stretching her spirit to the limits of her bodily confines, and she released the spell into the arena before it harmed her.  Arcane energy shimmered through the air like dew fallen from a bird’s wing.  Beautiful and deadly, the magic glowed and sparkled in pale purple-white patterns against the gold of Liadrin’s Light-born sword strikes.

Magic was dangerous, even for a caster with millennia of experience like Thalyssra.  Getting swept away by such power was all too possible.  “Respect magic, or it will break you,” Oculeth often warned others.  Even small mistakes could prove fatal.  Mortal flesh was not meant to contain the power of the cosmos itself.  Draw too much, tap too deeply, and you would be obliterated.  When Thalyssra had trained other nightborne as part of her duties as First Arcanist, she cautioned her students many times that more mages died from mishandling their own spells than from enemy attacks.

Thalyssra leaned forward and thrust her palms out, hurling another spell at her opponent.  Liadrin avoided it narrowly.  The paladin pivoted, turning the momentum into another overhead slash, forcing Thalyssra back.

Thalyssra regained her footing in the packed dirt of the arena.  She would not be outdone so easily.  Nightborne spent millennia mastering their power, learning to ride the flow.  Only cloth she wore, but she was armored in other ways.  The runed silver bands coiled around her forearms and ankles helped stabilize the magic within her body, so that she did not melt her hands off by throwing spells.

Her tattoos were also armor of a sort.  The arcane etchings in her skin acted as runoff deposits, like dams for a river’s overflow.  Excess mana collected within the runic designs, so that the power did not overflow inward and burst Thalyssra’s organs.  The tattoos flared white as they absorbed the excess magic, before Thalyssra drew it back out of them and folded it into her next spell.

“Rath-domaas!”

Magic words guided her attacks, gave each spell direction and shape so it was not merely an uncontrolled blast.

Words, tattoos, armbands, runes...  They only assisted.  A mage’s true strength always came from her own conscious mind.  Even with the best tools, a mage could still accidentally dissolve herself into floating fragments if she did not wield her power with skill.  This duel was pushing Thalyssra to new directions.  She was not a stranger to combat, mostly from Suramar’s rebellion.  But Liadrin was an accomplished fighter, veteran of several wars.  Thalyssra would not win easily.

“Ready to give up, nightborne?” Liadrin called in challenge as she moved close for another swing.

“Never!  Rath-doma--”

Liadrin’s fist struck Thalyssra’s stomach in rebuke, knocking the wind out of her and interrupting the spell.

Thalyssra fell to her knees, gasping for breath.

 _Move!_ came a frantic thought.  And barely in time.  Liadrin’s wooden sword heaved down.  Thalyssra rolled aside, avoiding it by mere inches.

That sword strike nearly cracked Thalyssra’s skull!  It would not have killed her, but such a nasty knock on the head would lay her out for a few days while healers tended to her.  Horde did not play gentle even in friendly duels.

The onlookers at the arena’s edge shouted and cheered.  Whether for Liadrin’s near strike or Thalyssra’s bare dodge, she did not know.

Thalyssra’s long legs swept Liadrin to the ground.  Without magic, all Thalyssra had was nightborne size advantage over the blood elf.  Even that was only enough to buy a few moments.  Size could not defeat experience, which Liadrin had in spades over Thalyssra.

While Thalyssra regained her footing, so too did Liadrin.  The paladin lunged again, and Thalyssra scrambled backward to regain some distance.  She needed to stay out of reach of that sword.  A few moments to get her breath back from that gut-punch was all it would take.  Then she could cast another spell.

Liadrin closed in on her target.  Thalyssra flung her arms out and let the arcane sing from her body in another shimmering barrage.

Liadrin uttered a quick prayer and surrounded herself with a shield of Light.  It could not hold up.  Thalyssra’s power shattered the shield with enough force to stagger Liadrin and knock the sword to the dirt.

Thalyssra seized the advantage and dashed forward.  One final bright blast of a spell dropped Liadrin to her knees, and before the paladin could recover her weapon, she found Thalyssra standing over her with a fistful of magic at Liadrin’s throat.

Thalyssra paused with her hand inches from Liadrin’s neck.  Her fingertips crackled with white energy, ready to clench and release a last spell.  Liadrin stiffened.

“Do you yield?”

A sigh loosened Liadrin’s tensed shoulders.  “Your win, friend.  I concede.”

It was finished.  Thalyssra shut her eyes and breathed deep in relief.  She opened them again when shouts erupted from behind the fence.

Saurfang and his fellow orcs thumped their chests and roared, and the rest of the onlookers cheered.  Thalyssra’s dreadguards rattled their swords against their shields and cried out more in relief than approval.

Thalyssra managed a shaky smile.  Shaky, but proud.  Even a small, friendly victory seemed to have endeared her to the Horde.  Strange to think that the Horde would respect Suramar’s people more for fighting prowess than millennia of peak civilization.  Perhaps not strange.  The Horde valued action, not words and pretty cities.

She helped Liadrin up and dusted off the smaller elf with a whoosh of magic breeze.  Both women were panting and sweating.

Thalyssra released her magic.  It was always a sorrow to let go of that joyous energy, but she knew she would tap into it again before long.  The arcane was as much a part of her as breath or blood.

Thalyssra intently checked Liadrin over.  “Are you hurt anywhere, my friend?”

“Only my pride.”  Noble to her paladin heart, Liadrin was a good sport about her defeat.  She ruefully retrieved her sword from the dirt.  “Come, I will teach you the duel-end ritual.”

Of course.  The display of weapons in formal salute, which Thalyssra saw Liadrin perform earlier with Saurfang and between other pairs in the arena.

“We salute our opponent to show gratitude for him fighting us,” Liadrin explained.  “Even an enemy can be a valuable thing.  His strength inspires us to improve our own.”

An odd outlook these Horde had.  Thalyssra could not imagine saluting the Legion invaders and felborne traitors she fought during Suramar’s rebellion.

There was grim poetry in such an outlook, Thalyssra supposed.  She decided to take inspiration from these Horde.  Instead of focusing on the devastation enemies wrought upon Suramar, focus on how Suramar could grow stronger from here.

Though poetic an outlook, perhaps also... troubling.  If people of the Horde could only improve themselves through combat and struggle, would that not lead them to seek out more war?  To start one if need be?  What sort of partnership would that make for Suramar?  Thalyssra still had her doubts.

Thalyssra and Liadrin faced each other formally.  Liadrin saluted by holding the sword point-up in front of her torso.  Thalyssra wielded no weapon, so instead folded her hands together in front of her chest and bowed the traditional shal’dorei way.

Waterskins hung from straps on the weapon racks along the arena’s edge, for fighters to slake their thirst.  Liadrin got a waterskin and handed it to Thalyssra.

“Here.  Water sharing is the second half of the salute ritual.  The victor drinks first, then shares with the defeated one to show respect.  This whole ritual might sound strange, but it was an old orc custom from Draenor.  Grew into a custom for all Horde.”

“It is not so strange.  We nightborne value tradition.  I am honored to participate.”

Thalyssra took a sip.  The water was warm from sitting in an Orgrimmar afternoon, but refreshing even so.  She passed the waterskin to Liadrin to complete the ritual.

After Liadrin took a drink, Thalyssra complimented her to lift her spirit from the defeat.

“You are as impressive in a dueling arena as you were in the Nighthold.  You fight with the fury of the sun.”

Liadrin wiped her brow and laughed.  “I am thankful we were on the same side when besieging the Nighthold.  Today convinced me I never want to face you in battle.”

“In a true battle, I would not fight in such close quarters.  If I focused my arcane powers, I could spark a manastorm that would strike every living creature within half a mile.”

“And what about us non-living creatures?” asked a different voice.

Every head around the arena turned to the new arrival.

Sylvanas stood on the other side of the fence, cloaked and hooded even beneath the harsh sun.  Her dark grays and heavy purples stuck out against the bright, vivacious colors of the other spectators.  A vulture roosting among parrots.

The crowd parted respectfully for their Warchief to pass through.  Heeling her as entourage were a few dark rangers and the grim, charmless man Thalyssra had seen a few times who seemed to be Sylvanas’s lieutenant.

“I came to call you back to the negotiation table,” Sylvanas said.  “But I see you found something more entertaining than dull discussions over maps and trade proposals.”

Sylvanas jumped the fence lithely with one hand on the rail.

“I want to sport with you, Grand Magistrix.  See your skills for myself.”

Unholy red eyes captured Thalyssra’s.  She could not have torn away even if she wanted.

“Duel me.”

Despite drinking water with Liadrin only moments ago, Thalyssra’s throat suddenly went dry at Sylvanas’s words.

Word passed quickly among the spectators of what was about to ensue.  Excitement quaked in rumbles and whistles all around.  Every other sparring pair immediately stopped their duels and cleared the arena, eagerly lining up behind the fence to watch.  Even Liadrin cleared out with them!  Bulky orcs and tauren crowded shoulder to shoulder, trolls squatted to peer under the fence rail, and some enterprising goblins quickly tossed coins to the taller races in exchange for a seat on their shoulders to watch.

Before Thalyssra had time to do more than blink like a startled bird, she and Sylvanas stood alone in the empty arena, encircled by hundreds of watching eyes.

A duel with Sylvanas?  In front of all these spectators?  Thalyssra’s ears quivered in trepidation.  She steeled herself and banished her nerves.  A public challenge had been issued.  To refuse would shame herself and her people.

“I accept your challenge,” Thalyssra declared, loud enough for all to hear.  Shouts and stomps of approval roared back at her.

Sylvanas silently unfastened the bone bow from her back.  Clawed gauntlets thumbed the notches capping both bow-limbs to check the string was taut.  A full quiver of arrows poked over her shoulder.  Prepared, she looked at her opponent expectantly.

Thalyssra planted her feet and readied for combat.

How hard could it be?  Thalyssra just defeated the Blood Knight Matriarch herself.

“I will go easy on you, Warchief.”

Sylvanas smiled.  Not in friendliness, in wicked anticipation.

“How kind.  I will not.”

 

* * *

 

“Rath-domaas!”

Going easy on Sylvanas lasted less than a minute.  Thalyssra fast realized it would take every ounce of acumen just to defend herself from being overrun.

Sylvanas certainly followed through on her own promise not to go easy.  Only the first few shots were cautious, testing.  When Thalyssra managed to block those, Sylvanas took it as permission to play rough.  Thalyssra supposed all these vicious arrows flying at her were a sign of respect, that Sylvanas trusted her to handle herself.

For diplomatic reasons, neither leader wanted to hurt the other.  But inside an arena, the external faded.  There was only you, your opponent, and the weapons between you.  Sylvanas did not hold back, and Thalyssra matched her intensity.

Thalyssra’s tattoos flared white as the arcane coursed through her body and soul.  Being in tune with the pulse of reality itself was always exhilarating, even in battle.  Hands aglow, she manifest spell after spell into creation and hurled them at her opponent.

Sylvanas avoided them all with anguine grace.  Her tattered cloak fluttered as she dashed aside just in time, fast even with all that mail armor.

The constant motion barely hindered Sylvanas’s shots.  Even as she ran, she loosed arrows at Thalyssra.  Pulling each arrow from the quiver, nocking, and drawing it to her cheek all seemed one fluid motion without hesitation.  The bone bow submitted to her pull’s strength, its spines harshly back-bent with each draw like a victim on a torture rack.

The arcane could shield as well as strike.  Thalyssra blocked arrows by conjuring a shimmering prismatic field in front of her body.  Arrows that struck that field slowed and oozed to a harmless halt, like pebbles dropped in a jar of thick honey.  While shielding herself, however, she could not attack.  She had to cease her shield-cast in order to throw barrages and missiles of energy at Sylvanas, then hastily pull the shield back up to block Sylvanas’s return shots.  Or jump aside bodily if the shield did not go up in time.  A hasty mess of a fight, at least from Thalyssra’s end.

The crowd hollered and battle-stomped for their Warchief.  Yells of pride and power lifted to the Durotar sky at seeing their faction’s might reflected in their commander.  Though Thalyssra had never seen her fight before, it was obvious Sylvanas was showing off a tad for her people.  She did seem to enjoy theatrics.  She could be as silently devious as a spider sometimes, while other times she was brazen and bold, the ranger-general leading the charge.

Surprisingly, Liadrin was not the only one cheering Thalyssra.  A number of spectators did!  Some were champions she recognized from the Suramar rebellion, while others she only met this past week in Orgrimmar.

“Dusk Lily!” they cheered, pumping fists skyward.

It was not that they wanted to see their Warchief bested, not even in sport, but Thalyssra was putting up a good fight.  The Horde loved a good fight.

Through the clamor, Sylvanas said nothing.  Merely kept dodging and weaving with a smirk.

In Suramar’s harbor, opportunistic gulls floated and pecked among the waters between docked ships, squawking in loud triumph whenever they caught a morsel fallen from the ships.  Sylvanas’s smirk reminded Thalyssra of that.  Not of the gulls themselves.  Of the sharks drawn by the boastful squawking, surging up from unseen depths to seize their victims.  Each shark always lingered on the surface for a few moments, just to let the gull struggle helplessly between its jaws, before pulling the bird down beneath the water to be devoured.  Sylvanas’s cruel smile was like a shark with a mouthful of bloody feathers.

Frustration prickled Thalyssra’s veins the longer the duel raged.  Sylvanas was just too fast.  Death had not slowed her.  If anything, she moved with unnatural agility.  All that exertion, yet not a drop of sweat pebbled Sylvanas’s brow.  Perhaps she was not even capable.

_I cannot hit her!  She does not stay in one place long enough._

Instead, Thalyssra tried aiming an attack where she expected her opponent to move to.  Of course, Sylvanas wove out of that just the same.  Thalyssra sighed.  She might as well have conserved her mana.

Sylvanas was not invincible, but she was a clever fighter.  All she need do was keep evading spells until she found an opening in Thalyssra’s defenses.  She would run out of arrows eventually, but would win before that point.  A mage’s mana drained faster than a hunter’s quiver emptied.  Magic was more powerful than physical weapons, at the price of being less dependable.

They had the whole arena ground to themselves, and made full use of the space.  Early flurries of arrows had forced Thalyssra into the vulnerable center of the arena.  Sylvanas had a wider range, darting along the arena’s edge and hugging the fence line.  The two combatants kept wary distance while spells and arrows flew across the arena.  They were not trying to kill each other, only force the other to yield.

Licks of air tickled Thalyssra’s cheek as another arrow whooshed by.  A darkly tempting thought occurred to her.  If she got close enough to lay hands on Sylvanas, she could stir that arcane spark as she did on their first day.  The sensation would distract Sylvanas enough for Thalyssra to win the fight.

_She did say she wants me to do it again..._

Unfortunately, there was no chance Thalyssra could get that close to her without getting porcupined with arrows.  Or getting acquainted with the dagger at Sylvanas’s belt, pointy end first.

More arrows flew Thalyssra’s way, trailing vile smoke in thin wisps.  Sylvanas was no spellcaster, but she could imbue each arrow with the same type of dark magic that animated her corpse.  A cobra, spitting her own body’s venom.

Sylvanas was too evasive and unpredictable in her movements for Thalyssra to grip her in a fist of magic and simply levitate her over here like levitating a cup across a room to drink.  If only Sylvanas would stand bloody still and let Thalyssra land a proper spell!

“You waste your time, Warchief.  You cannot outrun the inevitable.”

It was mostly just blurted from frustration.  Thalyssra hardly expected her opponent to cooperate and stop running.  Making defeat seem inevitable might distract Sylvanas while Thalyssra figured out a new line of attack.

Sylvanas was not discouraged in the slightest by Thalyssra’s threat.  She had said nothing so far during their duel, but now replied.

“You think that I’m _running_ from you?  Apparently, you’ve never fought hunters before.”

Arrogance soaked her ghostly voice.  She shot at Thalyssra just to punctuate her point.  Thalyssra trapped the arrow mid-air in a barrier.

“This woman is starting to vex me greatly,” Thalyssra muttered to herself.  She flexed her mind, and the caught arrow floating in her magical grip snapped in half.

Thalyssra could solve the problem by simply releasing an arcane explosion.  No matter how agile, no one could dodge an _explosion_.

However...  Such a devastating pulse of magic in all directions could not be aimed or controlled.  There was no way Thalyssra could stop the explosion before it tore through all the watching Horde members encircling the arena.

Sylvanas _knew_   that, Thalyssra realized. Sylvanas had kept her distance and stayed close to the crowded fence along the edge.  To those watching, it appeared Sylvanas was merely keeping an archer’s range from her opponent.  Thalyssra met red eyes and saw the smug truth burning in them.  Sylvanas was not keeping range, she was deliberating baiting Thalyssra by staying near the fence.  She knew the mage would not risk releasing a more powerful spell and injuring bystanders.  Sylvanas was using her own followers’ bodies as a shield to prevent Thalyssra from winning the duel.

_So...  This is how you fight, Warchief?_

Thalyssra searched her mind for another trick to victory.  A time-stop bubble?  Thalyssra was never as skilled with time manipulation as Elisande.  Still, she could time-stop an opponent for a brief period.  It would keep Sylvanas stuck motionless long enough for Thalyssra to land a winning blow.

Thalyssra felt the eyes of the Horde upon her, and realized time manipulation was not an option.  The point of a duel was to win through face-to-face prowess.  The Horde placed much worth in battlefield valor.  As the nightborne emissary, she was showing not just her own mettle, but that of her people.  No matter how badly this duel went for Thalyssra, she must not do anything to result in the Horde taking nightborne for cheaters or cowards.  Thalyssra could not trick her way to victory.  She needed to win this fight fairly.

Thalyssra strengthened her spine and fought on.  This was not about her pride, nor about beating Sylvanas.  It was about giving a good showing of Suramar in front of the Horde.  Impossible chances be damned, Thalyssra refused to give up!  That was not what she was made of.  Not what the shal’dorei were made of.  She stood firm and threw another arcane attack, her bare heels digging into the packed dirt.

Standing with the others behind the fence, Liadrin and Saurfang called out tips amid the cheering.  The two of them would never disrespect Thalyssra by interfering directly.  But, they were allowed to holler advice from the sideline, since she had little experience dueling.

Saurfang called out, “Do not keep chasing shadows and trying to hit her.  You’re only letting her set the terms of the fight.”

Liadrin, wooden sword resting on her shoulder, nodded agreement.  “It’s a waste of energy,” she said.  “At this rate, you will only exhaust yourself.  You are too reactive, Thalyssra.”

Thalyssra leaped aside to avoid another shot.  By the stars, that arrow nearly took an ear!  Sport or not, Thalyssra might need healing afterward if it continued like this.

“What am I supposed to do, then?!”

“Don’t attack her where she is,” Saurfang advised.  “Force her into where _you_   want her to be.  Only when she is somewhere you know she will be vulnerable do you strike.  Control the battlefield, and you will control the battle.”

“Control the battlefield...” Thalyssra repeated to herself.

_That’s it!_

She yelled her next spellcast.  “Rath-anu’tanos!”

The spell missed Sylvanas, as all prior did.  Except this one was intentional.

Thalyssra’s spell hit the ground... and stayed.  Veins of white arcane energy crackled and webbed the brown dirt at her impact point, like boiling energy scalding the surface.

At first, Sylvanas stared at the impacted ground in confusion.  When she realized what was happening, a curtain of dismay fell across her face.

Sylvanas could not step on that dangerous shimmer-veined ground.  The rippling magic energy would dissolve her into a pile of mana dust from the feet up.  She quickly leapt onto a clear patch of dirt.

Thalyssra hurled another spellcast into another patch of the arena’s ground.  Then another.  Another.  Sylvanas leapt aside each time, but the arcane ripples that erupted left more of those deadly white veins in the dirt, forcing her to keep moving.  The energy did not fade, only kept boiling and flaring, preventing Sylvanas from re-treading ground she already left.

Thalyssra had no power to control Sylvanas directly.  So, she controlled Sylvanas’s movements by dictating where it was safe to stand.

_Once she has no space left, I need not worry about my attacks missing her anymore.  Easy to hit an opponent with nowhere to run to!_

These spells did not directly trap Sylvanas, they only prevented her from dodging.   And Thalyssra made sure to leave an open path of safe ground connecting the two women, so Sylvanas could not decry it as cheating.  Sylvanas _could_ charge straight at Thalyssra over that clear ground.  But, if Sylvanas ran toward the center of the arena where Thalyssra stood, the hunter would just put herself in range of even stronger spells.

Slowly but surely, Thalyssra gained the upper hand in the duel.  Shaving away Sylvanas’s available ground slice by slice, Thalyssra swept the arena like a clock’s hand, squeezing Sylvanas tighter and tighter.  Best of all, these ground-spells were far more confined than an arcane explosion and so did not endanger any spectators.

Sylvanas clearly had not expected this turn.  Not only falling into the losing side of a duel, but being upstaged in front of her people?  That arrogant smirk soured into a frown.

Sylvanas did not give up.  Not her, not ever.  She fought even harder and pushed back against Thalyssra’s attacks with more of her own.  Her brow darkened unnaturally into a truly fearsome visage, and her eyes glowed even fiercer red.  Rage hissed and seethed in those depths like a red-hot blade quenched in a smith’s barrel.

A flurry of arrows flew at Thalyssra.  Panic sang in their howls of their flight.  Thalyssra shielded herself from them without ceasing her array of arcane magic covering the ground.

One last spellcast crashed into the dirt, and the ground denial was absolute.  Sylvanas’s only escape now would be to jump over the fence and out of the arena, which would forfeit the duel.

As a last-ditch effort, Sylvanas drew the dagger from her belt and hurled it at her opponent.

Thalyssra disintegrated the dagger mid-flight, steel sizzling into thin air, obliterated by arcane potency.

_Now I have her!_

Triumph soared.  Thalyssra prepared a finishing spell that would net Sylvanas like a trophy pheasant.

“I salute your bravery, hunter.  But the chase is over.”

Before Thalyssra completed her spell, Sylvanas locked eyes with her.

Sylvanas screamed.

Not a mortal’s scream.  The sound that burst from her lips was a wail of pure death.  Rage on a level no living being could experience.  The air itself seemed to tremble and darken, as if even sunlight could not stand against such a shadowed soul.  Maw agape, fangs bared, Sylvanas’s red eyes seared into everything they fell upon.

Thalyssra’s vision black-blazed with the sight of that wailing tenebrous abomination.  And then her vision vanished into darkness as the unholy scream shattered her consciousness for a moment that felt like an eternity.  The wail bored through her ears and gouged into her brain the way a worm drilled an apple and left sickly-slimy rot in its trail.  The shock of it dropped the spell Thalyssra had been casting and left her defenseless.

Thalyssra drifted formless within her own mind, her thoughts wrapped in shadow.  Then, something hard slammed into her body and knocked her to the dirt.

Consciousness returned in fragments.  Thalyssra shook her head rapidly to clear the last shadows.  She regained awareness, and with it came sight and hearing.  She was lying on her back in the arena, looking up at Durotar’s clear blue sky... and staring into Sylvanas’s face while the hunter straddled her.

Sylvanas must have been the hard impact Thalyssra felt.  Only moments Thalyssra had been disoriented, but in that time, Sylvanas ran forward, dropping the bow and bodily tackling her to the ground.

Panting, heart pounding, Thalyssra struggled to move.  Sylvanas was straddling her too tightly for escape.  Though smaller in size, Sylvanas had Thalyssra locked, with arms pinned down above her head and Sylvanas’s knees clamping either side of Thalyssra’s hips to keep her captured.

As viciously triumphant as Sylvanas was, all Thalyssra could think was that she looked like she was crying, with those unhealable tear-stains she bore like scars.  That wail was a scream of not only rage, but grief.  As if her soul itself cried out.

Face to face, trapped mere inches apart, Thalyssra stared up into Sylvanas’s eyes.  Her brow was still frightfully dark with unholy magic, her eyes glowing in the blackness, not at all her usual calm gray features.  Such a ghastly sight should have filled Thalyssra with fear.  Instead, Thalyssra felt... compassion.

Thalyssra gently tugged one hand out of Sylvanas’s grip where it was pinned to the ground.  Up, up, she raised her hand to touch Sylvanas’s cheek.  Thalyssra stroked a thumb across those tear-stains as if she could wipe the pain from Sylvanas’s past.

Surprise flickered in those burning eyes, sputtering out Sylvanas’s rage like a blown-out candle.  There was no magic in Thalyssra’s hand on her cheek, yet somehow the simple touch calmed them both.  The shroud of darkness lifted from Sylvanas’s face, returning her to her usual smooth gray skin.  Thalyssra watched as the red blaze in Sylvanas’s eyes dimmed back to its normal simmer.

Thalyssra stared into Sylvanas’s eyes for an embarrassingly long time before realizing she just _stroked the Horde Warchief’s cheek_.  In public, no less!  Thalyssra hastily pulled her hand away and looked around to see if anyone noticed such impropriety.

Stars’ mercy, no one had witnessed.  Too much reeling from that banshee scream among the spectators.  Apparently, Sylvanas did not share Thalyssra’s compunction against splashing bystanders with one’s own attacks.  Though Thalyssra got the brunt of it, everyone crowding the arena’s edge also felt effects.

Unsteady on their feet, many people were gripping the fence rail to stay upright.  A few spectators reamed their ears or tried to blink their vision back.  Some were bent double, clutching their heads.  One poor tauren had flat-out dropped the goblin he was holding up to watch the fight.  Thankfully, no one was actually injured.  The effects were temporary, as Thalyssra had found out herself.  Sturdy Horde the lot of them, many had already recovered, and the rest would soon follow.

Regardless of how it ended, this duel was indeed over.  Thalyssra sighed.

“In ten thousand years, admitting defeat never came easy to me.  But, admit it I do.  You have won.”

Sylvanas opened her mouth to speak, then found no words.  Ironic, but perhaps she could not give voice to what she was thinking now.

Sylvanas’s grip on Thalyssra relaxed.  Once Thalyssra unwound their tangled limbs, Sylvanas rose to her feet and helped the mage up as well.  Her eyes discreetly ran up and down Thalyssra’s body, checking for injury while trying not to be obvious in her concern.

Thalyssra dusted off her own garments.  Dirt was difficult to remove from shal’dorei silk, but such vanity was the least of her worries.  With a gesture of magic, she let the rippling arcane energy in the ground dispel, returning it to ordinary dirt as if nothing had happened.

Thalyssra looked around for Liadrin to see if her friend was harmed.  The paladin seemed recovered.  She was making rounds among her fellow Horde, bestowing prayers of healing Light upon those with worse-hurting heads.

Saurfang was steady enough to climb over the fence and approach the two in the arena.  He clapped a heavy hand on Thalyssra’s shoulder in respect.

“You did well.”

“...I lost.”

Disappointment weighed down her ears into a miserable droop.  She fought as hard as she could, yet still gave a bad showing of her people in front of the Horde.

“You fought with honor,” Saurfang insisted.  “Win or lose, that is what matters.  No one can expect to win every battle they face.  All we can bring with us into the halls of our ancestors is the knowledge that we died fighting to the best of our ability.”

Thalyssra’s ears pricked up again in surprise.  Did he truly mean...

She took another look at the recovered spectators.  Hundreds of eyes looked back at her.  None of them held disappointment or mockery over her defeat.  She had not given a bad showing in the slightest.  One and all, the Horde looked on Thalyssra in respect.  She fought with honor.

Her heart swelled until it seemed it would lift Thalyssra away with it.  She had thought of the Horde as brutes.  Now she saw they merely had a different value of what honor meant and how to live it.

Thalyssra glanced at Sylvanas from the corner of her eye.

“Is the Warchief a woman of honor?”

Saurfang tensed his broad shoulders, unsure how to answer with the woman in question standing right beside them.  Sylvanas lifted an eyebrow at Saurfang as if daring him.  Although he did not back down, neither did he answer the question.

“I must see to my warriors.  I take my leave.”  He nodded curtly to both elves.  “Warchief.  Dusk Lily.”

He left, and while the spectators sorted themselves out, Sylvanas and Thalyssra got a chance to talk with each other.

Thalyssra straightened her silver armbands grumpily.  “Quite uncouth, Warchief.  Here I was, trying to fight fair, but you...  That was not fair at all.  My ears are still ringing.”

“I’m sorry.”

Thalyssra’s eyes narrowed dubiously.  “No you are not.”

“No I am not,” Sylvanas admitted.  “I like to win.”

“That scream...  I did not even know you could _do_   that.  They call you the Banshee Queen for a reason, I see.”

“There are many things you don’t know about me.  And I would be remiss not to acknowledge there are many things I want to learn about _you_ , Grand Magistrix.”

Sylvanas picked up her bow from where she had dropped it before tackling Thalyssra.  Even her signature weapon had not been enough to win the duel.  When Sylvanas spoke again, admiration fleshed out the normally hollow echoes of her voice.

“I’ve never faced a mage like you.  Not only did you hold off my shots, you nearly captured me.  Few people can claim that, living or dead.”

Sylvanas lifted her bow over her shoulder as if to fasten it to its resting position on her back.  Thalyssra stopped her.

“Hold, Warchief.  Our duel is not yet complete.  There is a ritual to follow.”

“Ah, you refer to the weapon salute?  Already the Horde rubs off on you, Grand Magistrix.”

Sylvanas practically preened in satisfaction.  Likely taking it as indication the nightborne would soon join them.

“I am not choosing a side yet.  I merely want to honor tradition.”

They faced each other and formally saluted.  Sylvanas using the weapon, Thalyssra bowing as she did for Liadrin.  Thalyssra was still a bit miffed over that banshee wail, but there was no rancor from either woman in this salute.  Only genuine respect.

With salutes complete, Sylvanas put her bow away and Thalyssra retrieved the waterskin for the second half of the ritual.

Thalyssra was gradually attuning to Sylvanas’s subtle indicators.  Though her corpse stood unnaturally still, the barest flicker of her eyelid betrayed discomfort when Thalyssra brought over the water to share.

“Unnecessary.  I do not require drink.”

The recovered onlookers were crowding the arena fence again.  They watched Thalyssra and Sylvanas in anticipation.  Expectant, especially after so unconventional an end to the duel.

“ _They_ require you to,” Thalyssra said.  Quietly, so that only Sylvanas could hear.

Gathered here were orcs, pandaren, blood elves, and many others.  All of them disparate.  All of them Horde.

“You are their Warchief.  I know you’re, well... _different._  But they need to know that the important things remain the same.  That inside, you are as Horde as they are.”

Sylvanas nodded slowly.  Surprised, but swayed.

“Wise counsel, Grand Magistrix.  Very well, but you take the first sip.”

“Tradition demands the victor drink first, no?”

“I insist.”

Sunlight caught a shimmer in Thalyssra’s face tattoos as she tilted her head in befuddlement.  Why would Sylvanas flout tradition by...

 _Oh_.   _She is trying to spare me having to drink something a corpse touched._

A tiny ache of endearment tugged Thalyssra’s chest from inside.  Even more so because Sylvanas was clearly too proud to admit she was trying to spare Thalyssra.  How could such pride, such ruthlessness, and such thoughtful small gestures all coexist within the same cursed soul?

The onlookers were still watching expectantly.  Thalyssra held out the waterskin for Sylvanas.  No hesitation, only certainty.

“I told you on the zeppelin platform,” Thalyssra whispered.  This belonged only between them.  “I am not afraid of the night’s darkness.”

_I am not afraid of you._

She did not trust Sylvanas.  Not by a crooked, briar-paved mile!  But nor did Sylvanas make Thalyssra cower in fear, fume in hate, fall to her knees in worship, nor any of the other responses most felt toward the Banshee Queen.  Thalyssra wanted to find the true Sylvanas.  Not the banshee, not the queen.  The person.

Red eyes softened ever so slightly around the edges.  Sylvanas accepted the waterskin and took a sip for the crowd to see, then passed the skin back to Thalyssra.  Thalyssra drank without flinching.

The onlookers nodded in satisfaction at the ritual’s completion.  Horde tradition had been upheld.

Sylvanas said, “Now that we’ve had our fun out here, will you return to the Embassy for further negotiation?”

Thalyssra hung the waterskin back onto the weapon rack she borrowed it from.  She arched an eyebrow teasingly.

“Will you scream at me again if I do not?”

A wicked smile twisted Sylvanas’s lips.  “Best not risk angering the Dark Lady, Grand Magistrix.”

Sylvanas extended a gauntleted hand.  Once Thalyssra took it, Sylvanas turned and began leading her toward the Embassy.

Thalyssra followed, letting Sylvanas tow her like a little rowboat tugging a battleship into port.  Shorter by a head, size disadvantage did not deter the smaller elf.  Sylvanas guided Thalyssra along at a quick pace, eager to continue their negotiations for the shal’dorei to join the Horde.

With that cold steel gauntlet in her grip and the hard dirt of the dueling arena beneath her bare feet, Thalyssra realized something.  A warrior like Saurfang or a paladin like Liadrin would battle Thalyssra openly.  A hunter like Sylvanas stalked an opponent more cunningly.  These negotiations were a ploy, as carefully laid as an iron-spiked trap.  Sylvanas would lure her into exactly the right spot, and Thalyssra would not realize until the trap’s jaws snapped shut around her ankle.  Sylvanas’s intent was not to harm Thalyssra, but certainly to control her.

The fact the two of them were growing a little closer did not change the diplomatic reality.  The loyalty of the nightborne race would be a decisive boon for the Horde.  Sylvanas was a ruler with a worldwide war to win, and no compunctions about how it was won.  Their duel proved so, if Thalyssra still doubted.  Sylvanas would do whatever she deemed necessary to keep control of these negotiations and sway Suramar into her power, be it a choking overhand grip or a treacherous underhand stab.

Even if Thalyssra did eventually decide to join the Horde, as Grand Magistrix she bore a duty to her people to bargain the best she could from the deal.  To ensure a thriving future for Suramar, not merely to become bodies in someone else’s war.  How could Thalyssra keep firm footing in these negotiations without being overrun?

Thalyssra stopped walking.  This also tugged Sylvanas to a halt, still leading Thalyssra by the hand.  Sylvanas looked over her shoulder, brow furrowed in question.

Saurfang’s dueling advice echoed in Thalyssra’s mind.   _“You’re only letting her set the terms of the fight.  Force her into where_ you _want her to be.”_

An idea struck Thalyssra.  Sudden as lightning and clear as moonlight.

“You said you want to learn more about me, Warchief?  There is only one way to do that.”

_“Control the battlefield, and you will control the battle.”_

“Warchief, I’d like to take you to Suramar.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ends the first arc of this story, the Orgrimmar arc. 
> 
> Next chapter begins the Suramar arc! Tensions escalate between the Dusk Lily and the Dark Lady, while the war pushes ever closer...


End file.
